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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780266">See What Happened</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwfte/pseuds/CM%20Scott'>CM Scott (mwfte)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>That's What Happened [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Joker (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arthur gets what he deserves, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:01:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>92,948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwfte/pseuds/CM%20Scott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots from the lives of Arthur and Sarah - based on your requests!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Fleck/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>That's What Happened [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Windows Open (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I got some requests! I hope you all enjoy these glimpses into Arthur's and Sarah's life together! Explicit chapters will be marked with an 'E.'</p><p>If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment or feel free to message me. You can send me your requests over on my Tumblr, <a href="https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com/">C.M. Scott</a>, or here. Just drop me a line and I'll do my best. I hope to hear from you!</p><p>Chapter Summary: Sarah has a mild kink. Arthur's loves her anyway.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bright display of the alarm clock, indicating it was 8:12 AM, surprised Sarah. She rarely slumbered past six, even on her days off. Groaning, she looked at Arthur's side of the bed. He was already awake, as usual, but had apparently let her sleep in, probably figuring she needed it. He'd been right, of course. It had been a long week, with last minute court dates, filings, and more photos of workplace injuries than she had ever wanted to see.</p><p>Plus, she'd been up late, getting to sleep just past midnight after helping him paint the kitchen cabinets. All the white in the apartment had a tendency to remind him of the hospital, Arthur had joked. So he'd picked a new color, a barely-there light blue he'd seen in one of her magazines, stating it would make the place a little homier. </p><p>Stretching, she giggled as she remembered how he'd balanced himself on the counter while he painted the very top of the cupboard, right below the ceiling. Once he'd almost lost his footing, his socks slipping on the Formica, and she’d held his ankles to steady him. She hadn't been much help, though. With his pajama bottoms folded up above his knees, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, his lean muscles had distracted her almost immediately.</p><p>The tune he'd been humming along with the record player had broken off as soon as she'd begun running her nails through the light hair on his calf. "Sarah?"</p><p>"Hm?" she'd replied innocently.</p><p>The smile in his voice had been easy to hear, even as he'd admonished her. "It's easier to stay upright if you're not doing that."</p><p>"What if I don't want you upright?" she'd asked, continuing her teasing caresses.</p><p>He'd shaken his head. "Not tonight. I want to get this done." Twisting slightly at the waist, he indicated the direction of the bedroom with his chin, smiling at her with a look of incredulity. "Go to bed. I'll come in ten minutes." It hadn't been easy, but Sarah had relented, pressing a kiss to the back of his knee and feeling his muscle twitch beneath her lips before leaving. Though she'd tried waiting for him, she'd drifted off once her head hit the pillow.</p><p>A flush rose to her cheeks as she lay there. After almost three years of marriage, simply thinking of Arthur still had the ability to drive her crazy. There was his handsome face and the charming smile he saved just for her. The way her skin came alive when he would run his hands over it. And how he'd loosely hold her hips when he approached her from behind for a kiss as she got ready in the morning...</p><p>Sarah was getting unbearably turned-on. It made it imperative they finish what she'd started last night. After rubbing her eyes, she got up, changed into a pair of the lacy underwear she knew he liked, and padded to the living room, not bothering to wear any clothes over her short nightgown. It was oddly quiet: neither the television nor radio were on, and she didn't hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. After checking if he was in his writing nook, she made her way to the dining area and found the morning paper, an empty mug, and a note: "Went to bakery. Be back soon. Love you. - Arthur."</p><p>Trying to calculate when he was likely to be back, she hurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth. (Though it was easy to do, if she was going to lure him back to their bed, she wanted to put some effort into it.) Then, as she rinsed with mouthwash, she got an idea that caused a thrill to tingle its way up her spine. She checked the thermometer in the living room. The outside temperature was already seventy-three degrees - warm enough for what she had in mind.</p><p>She scurried to the bedroom, put up the window shades, and opened both of the windows behind the bed by two or three inches, just enough for sound to escape. At her insistence, they'd had sex with them open a couple times before, even though Arthur had told her he wasn't entirely comfortable with the whole street hearing his wife get off. He'd gone along with it once she'd explained her reasoning, though: it would boost his ego, she assumed. She wanted Gotham to hear how good he was in bed, to brag about him, even to total strangers. And sometimes it was fun to be harmlessly naughty.</p><p>The unlocking of the front door prompted her to lean against the entrance to the bedroom. Arthur spotted her as soon as he entered, smiling and saying, "Hi," then tossing a paper bag and his keys on the kitchen counter. Watching as he shrugged out of his tan jacket, hung it up, then started untying his shoes, she bit her lip. No collar popped up from the neck of his sweater. He must have neglected to put a button-up on under it, as he sometimes did when he was going out for only five or ten minutes. <em>Thank god I won't have to unbutton his shirt. </em></p><p>As he approached her, he folded his arms over his chest. The glint in his green eyes as they appreciated her state of undress, along with the crook of his mouth, let her know he was already onto her. He stood about a foot away. "How did you sleep?"</p><p>"Good, but something was missing when I woke up." She put her arms around him, her fingers entwining at the back of his neck. "I'm still hungry from last night."</p><p>"I got breakfast," he teased, hand going to her side as he closed the gap between them. </p><p>"Not for that, Mr. Fleck," she murmured, pulling him back into the bedroom. He followed eagerly, cupping her face as he opened his lips against hers. He tasted of the cigarette she knew he'd smoked right before entering the building. And hints of cinnamon and sugar, the flavor of his still-favorite donut. She whimpered into his mouth as his fingertips slipped under the hem of her nightgown, one hand seeking out her breast. "You're so fucking sexy, Arthur. I love you."</p><p>That last part wasn't something they usually told each other when they made love. It was evident in each interaction and word spoken every day. But she liked saying it, and she knew it pleased him to hear it. He squeezed her tighter to him, his kiss traveling to her cheekbone, then her temple as her hands dipped under his sweater. Her arms pushed it up past his stomach to his chest, her caresses traveling his abdomen.</p><p>Then his embraced loosened and he stilled. "You opened the windows?" he said, leaning his head back to look down at her with a lifted brow. The corner of his lips turned up. "It's busy this morning."</p><p>Taking his hand, she led him to the bed and sat down on it. "Perfect."</p><p>He rolled his eyes as he lifted his sweater over his head, revealing the toned muscles of his lithe chest and stomach. "Are you gonna be extra loud again?"</p><p>She opened her legs as he knelt in front of her, his fingertips on her hips causing her center to throb as he pulled down her panties. "Are you going to stop me?" As she pulled him to her, their foreheads meeting, she kicked the lace off her foot, not caring where it landed.</p><p>When she opened his fly and massaged his hard-on through his briefs, he pressed into her hand. "Maybe."</p><p>Grinning, she reached into his underwear, and grasped him firmly, causing his breath to hitch. She peeked down at him and licked her lips. She thought he was perfect, firm but with just enough give to yield slightly as her grip tightened, going up and down his length. Her thumb spread his arousal across the red head as she moaned softly. God, she couldn't wait for him to fill her. "I love the way you feel in my hand," she purred, then met his gaze. "And everywhere else."</p><p>In her peripheral vision, she saw his right hand fist the covers on the bed, the other reaching to stroke between her legs. Her hips jerked into his touch as his fingertips circled her bundle of nerves. Though spoken quietly, his next words made her pulse quicken. "I like being everywhere else." He pushed his fingers into her and she gasped, the hand that wasn't on his cock going to his shoulder. "I want to be in you," he whispered, his lips groping at hers.</p><p>It didn't bother her that he rarely spoke so boldly - he had a different, sweeter style. And she was forward enough for the both of them. Thankfully, having become confident over the course of their relationship, he had no issue touching her when and where he wanted. But when he did let out that brash side of him, it made her heart swell. Even those times his presence and touch made it hard to think, she always noticed and appreciated it.</p><p>Then he stood, causing her to whine when he withdrew his hand from her. Laughing lightly, he slid his trousers and briefs down his legs, but kept his wrinkled white socks on, and stood on his knees on the mattress.  After she peeled away her nightgown, she lay back against the pillows, then tried to wrap her legs around him to bring him over her. But he wasn't quite ready for her to pull him forward, and he landed on her, snorting when she let out a grunt of discomfort, his elbow colliding with her chest.</p><p>"Sorry." He kissed her hairline, then let his lips drift down to her mouth. Her breath stuttered as his hands went to her breasts, squeezing gently as he dragged his the pads of his thumbs across her stiff nipples. The sharp pleasure that spiked through her at his ministrations, combined with the weight of his thick erection against her inner thigh, made her drive up against him as she arched her back. He gave one of the taut peaks a playful pinch before letting go. "That's better," he hummed against her neck.</p><p>Then his hand went between them. Seconds later, she felt the underside of his cock against her labia, the delicious friction of his heated skin causing her to become even slicker than before. Sarah loved it when he did this, when he rode her slit and the ridge on the head of his erection collided with her sensitive nub. Groaning, she reached down, spread her fore- and middle fingers, then pushed down on her folds, on both sides of her hood. It pulled back, just enough to expose her clit, allowing his hard length to rub directly along it. Her lips parted as she screwed her eyelids shut and she wailed sharply, "Fuck, Arthur. You... Oh my-"</p><p>Thrusts becoming uneven, he loosely covered her mouth with his hand. "Sarah, shut up!" he rasped between chuckles, pressing the bridge of his nose against her temple. The blush on his cheeks was bright when she looked up at him, his eyes momentarily flicking to the open windows. But his gaze betrayed the gratification he felt at her compliments, at being wanted in every way, every day by her. Despite her, once in a while, wanting to do this whole "being heard" thing he'd deemed kind of strange. Then she started laughing against his palm and nipped at him once, prompting him to let go of her.</p><p>Changing the angle of his pelvis, he pushed the tip of his erection into her. Her breath caught, feeling that first, hot inch within her walls. But he stopped, grinning shyly as he stroked back her hair. "The whole city's gonna hear you," he breathed.</p><p>"That's the point," she said, clasping his ass, trying to pull him inside her. He sank in another measure, then held firm. But the twitching of the muscles of his arms let her know he was having a hard time controlling himself. She gave him another tug and ground her pelvis against him. "Arthur, letting everyone hear how well my husband beds me is the one kink I have. Don't let it-"</p><p>The sudden rush of his hips as he completely filled her halted her words. Her hands traveled to his lower back as she clung to him, relishing in the burn of his scalding shaft. And the sweet way he wrapped his arm over the top of her head, holding her tightly. Retreating only four or five centimeters each time, his movements were shallow and slow, exquisitely teasing. His free palm went to the calf she had half wrapped around him and grasped her leg, pulling it up fully above his hip. </p><p>As his plunges deepened and sped up, his groans increased in number and volume. He shifted his position so that he was more fully on his knees, then reached between their bodies to drag his touch across her folds. Winding her fingers in his hair, she brought his mouth to hers. Their breaths intermingled as she panted raggedly between tender sweeps of his tongue against the inside of her lips.</p><p>The rolling of his hips turned rough and irregular, and Sarah could tell he get was getting close to completion. But he ceased suddenly, gritting his teeth as he propped himself up. He looked down to where they were joined. Then his fingertip quickened, flicking hurriedly as he played with her swollen clit.</p><p>Her voice pitched higher and the motions of her body increased, sheathing him within her repeatedly as she strove towards him. Heart pounding in her ear, she desperately grabbed his shoulders. Her body was growing rigid, and she tightened the leg around his waist. Throwing her head back into the pillow, her mouth opened and her thrusts faltered. She vaguely heard him hiss as her muscles began gripping his cock.</p><p>A long moan left her as she seized, bending up into him. Everything but the sensation of him in her core, the weight of him on top of her fell away. Heat flowed through her, starting in her center and radiating out through her limbs. He removed his hand and began pounding into her, and she cried out uninhibitedly at the blissful slide of him within her pulsing walls. </p><p>She looked up at him, his dark brows drawn together, his nostrils flaring as he worked towards his climax. Wanting to encourage him, Sarah breathed the steamy phrases she knew he’d come to adore: <em>“Come inside me”</em> (which had never been in question); <em>“Deeper”</em> (though he could never go deep enough); <em>“Arthur, please, more”</em> (as if she could ever get her fill of him). The volume of his grunts increased with each remark, his palm sliding up her side and approaching her face. For a moment she thought he was going to try to quiet her again. But instead he grasped the pillow, moaning sharply as he bucked into her a final time.</p><p>Greedily, Sarah wrapped her other leg around him and held him firmly, closing her eyes as his release splashed against her cervix. She nestled against his jaw, savoring the intimacy of the moment, conscious of the affection between them, even when he was fucking her senseless. And loving the fact that everyone on their street had heard how satisfied she was with Arthur.</p><p>After his breathing steadied, he climbed off her and wrapped a blanket around his waist. Eyeing her, he closed the windows and shook his head. “What if someone from the building was out there?”</p><p>“Uh,” she giggled. “The neighbors have already heard us.”</p><p>Arthur turned scarlet, his brows lifting. “How- How do you know?”</p><p>“I got a note under the door the last time we got busy in the kitchen. And that wasn’t the first time,” she said, unable to prevent the grin that spread across her cheeks. When he rubbed the side of his face and closed his eyes, she reached out to stroke his arm. “It’s your fault. You’re too damn good.”</p><p>He breathed a laugh, then, and gave a little nod as he cocked his head. After studying their pile of abandoned clothing, he said, “You’ve been a good teacher.”</p><p>“Along with Dr. Sally," she snorted. Taking his hand and pulling her down next to him, she said, "You’ve taught me a lot, too.” She sighed happily and stroked a tousled curl back. “You’re the only person I’ve been this comfortable with. Well, besides myself.” They were variations on the same compliments she often gave him. She enjoyed singing his praises - and he needed them. Shrugging, she continued. “I know some of it’s my age. But most of it's you.”</p><p>He beamed at her, then he nuzzled against her face and planted a kiss to it. Rising, he let the blanket fall to the bed and put his underwear back on, then grabbed the same clothing he’d painted in the night before. “We still have to finish the trim on the cabinets.”</p><p>Sarah groaned as she pulled the comforter over her head. “Five more minutes. My legs aren't ready to work.”</p><p>Chuckling, he pulled the cover away from her, then tossed her nearby sweatshirt and sweatpants her way. “Five minutes,” he agreed, kissing her cheek. “Or we’re never opening the windows again.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Strogonof"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur reminisces about his and Sarah’s first dinner together. Sarah’s happy to relive it with him.</p><p>Thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for this request!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur thought it was a great idea, albeit a last minute one. Not having known it was a thing when Sarah had given him his desk, he'd done nothing for their six month anniversary. He wanted to make damn sure to note one month of marriage. The dish she'd cooked the night he'd first come over had been delicious. And he would always associate it with falling in love with her. He found the name of it in his old journal, in the entry he'd written after their date, when he'd been high on the ease of their conversation, their too-short dance, and the kiss they'd shared: "strogonof."</p><p>Celebrating by having it again would be lovely. "I liked it a lot," he said when he called her office, notebook in hand. "Maybe we could make it for dinner?"</p><p>Her voice had a smile in it, though she turned him down. "Arthur, it takes nine hours to cook." </p><p>Nine hours? Unable to hide his consternation, he frowned. "Oh." Tension entered his shoulders, and he rubbed the back of his neck to quiet it. He'd have to come up with something else. Going to Kao-Wah's would work, though it wouldn't be as intimate. He could try to get the same booth as before. He started to flip through his notes, seeking to find the names of what they'd eaten between his earliest stand-up performance and the cementing of their relationship.</p><p>"Tell you what," she said, unknowingly interrupting his planning. The tap of her pencil on her desk was crystal clear through the phone. "We can get the ingredients tonight and make it tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"</p><p>The suggestion warmed him, though it would be a day late. "That sounds great." </p><p>During their walk to the nearby grocer's, he explained why he wanted that specific dish. And he told her he'd finished paying for the ring he'd picked out for himself (which he wouldn't let her help with, though they had combined their bank accounts): a gold band to match hers. Then he showed it to her. She snagged it, held his left hand steady as she slipped it on his finger, then kissed him firmly. Right there on the sidewalk in front of everyone. Sarah laying claim to him so enthusiastically, in public, made him feel like he was floating. Lips cracking a toothy smile, he led her through the store's entrance.</p><p>Arthur carried the shopping basket as they strolled each aisle. She was swiftly going to and fro, grabbing groceries as they went. And she made sure to pick the same wine as they'd had that night. It was cute, really. That wasn't a word he often used to describe her. But her grin was growing with every item she picked out. She was almost girlish. But he knew if he said that, she'd remind him she was the older one, and he wouldn't hear the end of it. Smirking at her was the best option. </p><p>As he picked up sour cream, she told him their supply of TV dinners was almost out. They weren't eaten often, but Sarah brought them to work once in awhile. Though their roles were reversed, a feeling of deja vu swept over him as she walked down the frozen food section. He watched as she stood in front of the freezer, apparently trying to decide which one she wanted. He tried to recall what she'd said to him when they'd first met. After approaching quietly, he stood behind her. "There are too many to pick from."</p><p>When she looked over her shoulder, he knew she'd understood. He continued. "Want me to get one for you?"</p><p>Beaming, she opened the door for him and leaned back against it. "Yes, actually. The Polynesian Style Dinner. With the orange tea cake." He reached in and got it for her, then presented it with a small bow. She took it, giggled, and whacked him lightly on the bicep with it. Then she caught him off guard by grasping his collar and pulling him to her. "You know, mister," she purred, "you're very handsome. Want to sneak in the back? I'm sure we can hide behind some boxes."</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw a nearby man look at them with disapproval. Arthur snorted, blushing. "I'll just take your number. You might be a nut." She gasped, putting the back of her fingers to her mouth, then ducked away from him in mock outrage and hurried towards the cash register, glancing back as she went. God, he loved it when she was playful - generally she was just sarcastic. He grabbed the same dinner for himself and took off after her.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Sarah went over the recipe, guiding him through each step. It was easy enough. He cut the beef into bite-sized pieces while she drained the mushrooms. The condensed soups were thrown in, along with a chopped onion. As they worked in tandem, she told him the cream cheese needed to be taken out later to soften. He had a therapy appointment that morning and a gig, a kid's party, in the afternoon, but he'd be home in between. He wrote a note and left it on the counter so he'd remember. Then she handed him a spoon. "So," she started. "We've been Mr. &amp; Mrs. Fleck for a month. How does it feel?"</p><p>He released a soft "hm" as he stirred all the ingredients together. Their engagement had been about a half hour - he hadn't gotten used to being a fiance before becoming a husband. Marriage elicited numerous reactions at once. He'd hoped for it one day. He'd thought it would be gratifying to have a partner, a person who loved him enough to take his last name, along with his issues. Someone who wanted to fold her life into his. With every seldom, missed chance, though, whether due to his apprehension or lack of women to interact with, he'd grown to assume that type of union was out of reach for him.</p><p>When they'd initially gotten together, he'd thought of Sarah in the context of what she could do for <em>him</em>. How her presence would improve his existence. That she validated him. His musings still often skewed that way. But he'd found he didn't only enjoy his wife being there whenever he needed or wanted her. It fulfilled him to support her. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by that. He'd spent most of his years looking after Penny. It made sense he'd want to care for Sarah, too. Especially since marrying her was a choice he'd made, not a circumstance he'd wound up in as a kid. </p><p>During the prior months, mornings had become one of Arthur’s favorite parts of the day. Normally, he'd wake up an hour before her. He’d kiss her forehead, put on coffee, and go on the fire escape to smoke. It was a peaceful routine. But over the past four weeks, there had been a slight change. There were days like this one, when awe would overcome him as he stirred and looked her way, like it had when he'd first moved in. Awe at having her instead of permanent solitude. He would press into her sleeping form, simply to hold her, to feel her solid weight and heat against him. To remind himself he'd never go unseen again. </p><p>And he found a modicum of happiness in the small, domestic niceties he hadn't considered in his fantasies. Like when they would plop on the couch after a long day, and she would read a newspaper while he watched a variety show, keeping each other company even as their interests diverged. Or if she would forget to grab the bar of soap before hopping in the shower, and call for him to retrieve it for her. And there was the time he'd tried to impress her by fixing a leak under the kitchen sink himself. It had worked, temporarily. She'd lauded him, anyway, not caring the repair had only lasted a couple days and the-</p><p>Sarah poked his ribs. "I hope the silence doesn't mean you hate it," she teased.</p><p>He had a tendency to grow quiet and think too long when she asked him questions. But she didn't seem to mind - she'd said it was sweet. His lips turned up as he gave her a sidelong glance. "No." The spoon went in the sink after he rinsed it off. "It's nice. Especially with you."</p><p>She was setting the timer on the slow cooker. "Good." Her smile was wide as she stepped to him, her arms encircling his skinny waist. "I wish I could stay all day, but I've got to get to work. Call me if you need anything."</p><p>She always told him that before she left. And the fact that she meant it made him feel whole, at least for a few seconds. He said he would, kissed her, and helped her with her coat and bags as she headed out the door.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>The meal was as appetizing as he'd remember. And because he wasn't nervous this time, he was able to fully enjoy the richness of it. He'd gotten used to drinking wine with Sarah occasionally, too, and poured the correct amount for both of them. But he often felt its heady effect after one serving. It was probably what emboldened him tonight, along with the Nat King Cole record in the background, and Sarah's attempt at dimming the pendant light over the table by tying a kerchief under it. “Can I tell you a secret?” Arthur asked, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkins Sarah insisted they use.</p><p>As she took another bite of her egg noodles, she grinned and tapped his calf with her toe. “We still have secrets?”</p><p>He pressed his lips together. He’d truly opened up to her some time ago, when she’d come back after Murray. But there would always be things he would never tell her. How he’d gotten fired for bringing a gun to the children’s hospital. That he’d quit school at fifteen. Or that he’d had the urge to follow her when they first met. </p><p>But this he wanted to share. “I…” He could feel his cheeks turn pink as he chuckled softly. He rested his face on his hand. “I thought about marrying you after we slept together the first time.” Trying to hide his bashfulness, he jabbed at a mushroom, blinking down at his plate. </p><p>The response was a full-throated laugh. She put down her fork and picked up her glass. “I’m glad you didn’t say that to me then.” The sip she took was longer than usual. It made him wonder if he’d screwed up, admitting that to her. Then she said, “I knew you were a romantic at heart, but I didn’t realize you were quite so old-fashioned.” </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well,” she started, concentrating on her wine as she swirled it gently. “I hadn't realized sex was one of your big considerations for getting married. Given how often we had it beforehand.”</p><p>He scrunched up his face. “That’s not it.” Sighing, he started eating again. “I didn’t want someone to take you away from me. I was afraid you’d realize I’m a mess and not want me anymore.” Those notions felt ridiculous now and he shrugged at himself. “I just- I wanted you to know how quickly I loved you,” he said quietly.</p><p>He could feel the heat of her gaze on him. It didn’t make him uncomfortable - they were beyond that. But he felt his blush deepen. (That reaction was so ingrained in him. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d ever stop doing it around her.) </p><p>She cupped his chin and turned him to her, their eyes meeting. His eyebrows lifted and he held his breath, stomach doing a little flip. The adoration he felt for her was reflected back at him. Leaning forward, she kissed him. Though the movements of her lips were soft, the passion behind the gesture was clear. “I apparently like messes. And dimples," she said, squeezing his cheek. "I hadn't been aware they could be so cute." The glare he gave her made her giggle. Then she continued to eat. "I didn't plan on getting married again."</p><p>"Why not? You're good at it."</p><p>A pleased expression crossed her face. "Thank you." But then she bit her lip. "I've told you how unhappy I was with my ex. And then I had to jump into being miserable with my father. When I was free of all that, I wanted to live for myself." She took her plate to the sink and started rinsing it. "I still do. But it's not the same. You being a part of my life has made it better." Scoffing, she shook her head. "I never expected that from anyone." Her voice was getting rough, which he knew she'd blame on the wine. "I'm thankful for you everyday, Arthur."</p><p>He closed his eyes as he took in what she said. The romantic dinner, the LP playing, her precious words (which he planned to jot in his journal later)... The tightness in his breast was acute, and he thought he might burst if he simply continued sitting. Articulating his feelings was difficult when he was overcome. But touching her had become easy. Rising from his seat, he took a step towards her and laid a hand between her shoulder blades, massaging tenderly. </p><p>Chuckling, she leaned back against him. "Listen to me prattling on like an idiot. You'd never guess I started dating you for your looks."</p><p>He kissed the side of her head. No matter how often she told him how good-looking he was, he'd have his doubts. But he believed she found him attractive. Maybe his ego would someday let that be enough. "Why do you think I started seeing you?" he murmured.</p><p>She turned around in his arms and put her hands on his chest. "All right. The clumsy grace hiding under all that reservation probably had something to do with it, too." </p><p>The food and wine forgotten, he hugged her, hard, and nuzzled the side of her face. Sarah had told him before not to worry about saying the wrong thing. That when he managed to trust himself, which had gradually become easier, she thought he spoke beautifully. And sometimes the simplest phrases were the best. "I'm glad you married me."</p><p>"I love you, too." She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Let's finish that bottle of wine." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Vanity (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur tries to get ready for work. Sarah joins him.</p>
<p>This request comes from the marvelous brain of @ithinkimawriter. Thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-reading!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After he started street performing and getting gigs again, Arthur found he needed a better place to put his supplies for work. The two small shelves in the bathroom were already covered by his and Sarah's toiletries, so they didn't fit there. He'd been keeping it all in a plastic bag in the closet, but that wasn't ideal. The enclosed space had a tendency to get too hot due to how the heat worked in the apartment, which made his make-up dry out. And the brushes were getting damaged because of improper storage. </p>
<p>Having to borrow money from her wasn't the only reason he was hesitant to mention he would prefer a vanity. Sarah would often sit on the closed lid of the toilet, watching him lean over the sink while he applied greasepaint to his face. If he had his own work area, he assumed she'd probably hold back from him when he was in it, like she did when he was in his writing nook. It was one of the ways she showed him respect. But he loved her keeping him company when he'd get in costume, how they would discuss the day and plan for the evening.</p>
<p>She'd begun asking more about his job, seeming to be genuinely interested in it. They were simple questions: how long he'd been a clown ("About ten years. Maybe twelve?"); what he liked best about it ("Every day is different. And making kids laugh."); and what the hardest part was. He pondered on what answer he could give, one that was accurate, but wouldn't cause her concern. He hadn't wanted to tell her he still had to deal with mean people (though incidents were seldom and he was better at handling them). If he did that, she'd probably insist on riding with him, despite his reassurances he could take care of himself. "The commute can be rough," he'd admitted. Then he'd bent down to her and tapped her nose lightly with the tip of his brush. "It's good knowing I have you to come home to." Her wide smile and gleaming squint had been full of adoration, in spite of her reaching for a tissue to wipe her face.</p>
<p>Eventually he told her, though. "There's a cosmetic table at Donahue's Department Store," he said, giving her the flyer they'd gotten in the mail as he sunk onto the sofa cushion beside her. He pointed at the picture of the vanity, with its dark brown veneer and two drawers on both sides of the sitting area. The oval mirror had sides that folded in at an adjustable angle, which, he explained, would make it easier for him to ensure the white base covered every part of his face. "We could put it on my side of the bed. By the window. It's only a couple feet long, a foot deep. I already measured the space."</p>
<p>She looked intrigued. "Mr. Fleck, you want to put a giant mirror next to our bed?" The glint in her eye was obvious.</p>
<p>He blinked at her. "I need a space to put my make-up. The lighting will be better there."</p>
<p>Studying the page, she leaned her head on him, a smirk in her voice. "Of course."</p>
<p>He wondered why she was joking around when he was being serious. But he continued with what he had to say. "I don't want you to stop watching me get ready if we buy it. It'd be yours, too. It's not expensive. But- But I'd need to borrow a little from you. I could pay you ba-"</p>
<p>"Don't start with that," she interrupted. "I'll call them right now." With a kiss to his shoulder, she got up and walked to the phone. He eagerly waited in the kitchen entrance, worrying his pockets while she sat on the counter making notes. Then she hung up and gave him the good news: the store would be able to deliver it Friday afternoon, cash-on-delivery, fully assembled for a small fee. Arthur grabbed his wallet, took out all $22, and shoved it at her until she rolled her eyes and stuck it in an envelope for the payment. "I'll put a couple mascaras in there," she said wryly. "Then maybe you'll stop worrying about the money."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The party would be starting at 1:00 PM. Arthur had to hop on the red line from Burnley, transfer to the blue line in Hinckley, then take the train to Gotham Village. The commute would be just under an hour if there were no delays (which had become more frequent ever since the prior year's budget cuts). Gary had assured him he didn't have to worry. He'd worked for a friend of the family before and they were nice people. The kid liked magic tricks and balloon animals. It'd be easy. And he'd be home for the Saturday Night Made-for-TV movie Sarah wanted to catch with him. (Courtroom dramas weren't his thing, but he wouldn't miss the chance to settle his arm around her and pretend to be engrossed.) </p>
<p>Sitting at the vanity, with its round stool and solid, cream color cushion, made him feel like a professional getting ready to face the day. Even if he was a clown. The light shining through the sheer, muslin curtains of their bedroom was bright enough to get started. After removing his shirt and raking his brown locks back, he dabbed the brush in his pot of white foundation. The bristles ran across his forehead and strong brow in even lines, over the straight bridge and rounded tip of his nose, then down his right temple, careful not to get the pigment in his sideburn. Tilting his head and holding steady, he painted curved, smooth strokes over his sharp cheekbone, down to his jawline, then repeated the motions on the left side of his face. His mouth parted as he colored the area under his nose, his thin lips, and chin. When the paint was distributed evenly, he blended it with a sponge, using small, circular motions.</p>
<p>Sarah's soft footsteps approached as he finished the blue triangles above and below his left eye. "What kind of sandwich do you want to take with you?" she asked from the bedroom doorway.</p>
<p>That turned the corner of his mouth up. Whenever Arthur had a job around lunch, she packed him something to eat. He hadn't yet gotten use to being taken care of. The attention made him feel self-conscious. He wasn't certain he'd ever believe he deserved it. But more and more often, he found himself able to simply appreciate her thoughtfulness. "Anything will be okay. Wait - do we have turkey?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'll make it soon." He watched her in the mirror as she walked up behind him and sat on his side of the bed. "You don't have to leave for a couple hours," she said, working on her thumbnail with a file. "I'm surprised you’re in here already." </p>
<p>It was a bit early to be preparing for the gig, but he didn't want to be late. If these people really were as gracious as Gary claimed, maybe he'd be able to perform again at their next party. Or they'd recommend him to other families. Then he'd definitely be able to pay off the ring he was buying Sarah and give it to her in October, as he'd planned. He finished working on the triangle under his right eye, having already done the one on his brow. "I wanna make sure I get it right," he said. "I used to do it every day."</p>
<p>She got up and propped herself on the edge of the table, dropping the emery board on it. "You're much better at that than I am," she said as he drew the outline of an exaggerated smile, then filled it in. "I'm lucky I don't poke my eye out with my liner." </p>
<p>Chuckling, he let his gaze flit up to hers before continuing. It was difficult not to be distracted by her proximity; she was pretty even in her casual, weekend outfit. The black, white-seamed tank top showed off the contours of her breasts. And its slits, stopping just above her hips, enticed him. Glancing at her legs, he admired the curves exposed by her matching, form-fitting track shorts. The stray hairs on her calves were few, leftovers from her electric razor - he’d have to remind her to change the blade.</p>
<p>She scooted closer. "Do you know how beautiful you are in that?" she said, indicating his make-up. "You took my breath away when I first saw it. Well, that paired with your good hair."</p>
<p>A scoff left him as he put red eyebrows midway up his forehead. The paint helped him get into character. But he was aware his visage was more weathered than most thirty-five year old men. And he disliked how the color would accentuate the lines and crevices in his face. "It shows my wrinkles," he murmured, to himself as much as to her.</p>
<p>"I love your wrinkles," she said. "And your squishy cheeks." Then she cupped his face. He recoiled almost instantly, grasping her hand. A bit of paint had gotten on her. "Oops, I smudged you." Before he could protest, she grabbed the white brush from the jar behind her and perched herself on him. It caught him off guard. But after a few seconds, he put his left arm around her waist to steady her.</p>
<p>The tension in his body grew and his eyelids drifted shut. The bristles tickled with Sarah controlling them - he'd never had someone else do his make-up before. The wet of the paint and the weight of her on his lap reminded him of one of his earliest fantasies of her. He'd imagined bringing her to HaHa's and showing her off to his co-workers. (In particular, Randall, that asshole who'd been married and divorced twice, constantly complained about his exes and whoever he was seeing, and probably didn't even know what a clit was.) Even though they'd made fun of him, and he didn't understand all their comments about women, he could have proven he was worthy of a girlfriend. </p>
<p>Arthur sighed. He didn't like how the tenderness she was showing him prompted his thinking to go to such a bitter place. Especially since he felt he was doing better and believed he was moving on. Not wanting to spoil the lovely morning he was having with her, he concentrated on the physical space around him, the way Dr. Ludlow had taught him. He focused on the warmth of Sarah's form on his thighs, the hint of her pleasing natural scent over the chalky smell of the greasepaint, the way her fingers curled on his chest as she tried to fix the smear she'd made. The burning in his shoulders alerted him to the fact that he was flushing, and he ducked his head slightly. </p>
<p>It wasn't the best moment to get aroused - he really did want to get ready for work. But then she leaned into him, her breasts flush with his torso, and his heartbeat quickened. Her pebbled nipples through the thin fabric of her top prompted him to slowly trace the hem of her shorts. With his blood rushing to his groin, he nearly didn't hear her sound of displeasure. "What?" he rasped.</p>
<p>"I'm making this worse." </p>
<p>He moved to look past her, in the mirror. The carefully formed triangle still had a wide base, but one side was uneven, the tapering causing it to look like an icicle. He shook his head and seized the brush, pretending to be annoyed. "This is why I started early."</p>
<p>"Really?" she replied, tousling his hair. A couple stray curls fell onto his forehead. "I was hoping it was so we'd have time." The slight scrape of her nails on his scalp, and the invitation in her eyes made his mouth run dry. </p>
<p>Since they'd gotten together, he'd been learning his boundaries and figuring out what he liked. Sarah was understanding and patient, and happily answered any questions he could bring himself to ask. And when he misinterpreted something or made a mistake, she accepted it with humor. Her easy manner and generosity healed any embarrassment, even when he needed a few minutes to stop being flustered.</p>
<p>Making love with his clown face on wasn't something they had discussed. But if she wanted to, he wasn't opposed. He huffed, put the brush on the table, then let his fingertips slide down her neck. When she adjusted her legs and bumped his erection, he dipped under the strap of her shirt. "Time for what?" He hoped he sounded confident enough to tease her. The kiss she gave him was urgent but he drew back. "This stuff doesn't taste good," he warned.</p>
<p>"I don't care," she breathed, dipping to his mouth again, arms going around him. At that, he reached up her shorts, in a hurry to have her as close to him as possible. Lips continuing to pull at hers, he helped her stand and take them off, along with her underwear. He wanted to watch as she straddled him, but her kisses were demanding, and he was losing the ability to think clearly. Instead, he palmed her ass, savoring the feel of her slow but enthusiastic undulations against his length. Eventually, she broke away from him, pressing her forehead to his. "I made a mess," she giggled. </p>
<p>He looked down between them. The stain of her slick had gotten on the front of his blue pants, its faint whiteness shining in the bright sunlight. "Oh..." He licked his upper lip at the sight and shuddered. "Sarah?" </p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>One of her requests had been that he attempt to be more explicit, to tell her what he wanted. He might as well try it again now. Swallowing thickly, he forced the words out. "I need to fuck you."</p>
<p>The light laugh that left her was delighted. "I'm right here," she purred as she helped him shed her shirt.</p>
<p>Once it was gone, he lifted her off him and sat her on the vanity, suddenly overcome with the need to take her. He threaded his fingers through her hair, angling his head upwards to tangle his tongue with hers. The grip she had on his biceps was almost bruising but he loved it. It made her inexplicable desire for him tangible. Slowly, he traced down over her stomach to hold her hips. His mouth reached her chest, and he panted between his sucking of her nipples and open-lipped kisses on her breasts. </p>
<p>He backed away, taking in the make-up he'd smeared on her body and face. The possession he felt at that shocked him, but he enjoyed it all the same. Then he gazed down at her core with hooded eyes and groaned. She was beautiful, splayed before him like she was, her center red, swollen, and so wet her arousal was on her thighs. He placed his palm on the crease of her thigh, licking his lip as he stretched to toy with her engorged clit. Her grip moved to his shoulder as she jerked up into his touch. He nuzzled her sternum as he continued, rapidly moving the pad of his thumb back and forth over the sensitive nub. The motions of her pelvis quickened, matching his fervor. But as his lips began to trail down to her abdomen, she stopped him. "I want to come with you in me."</p>
<p>After gathering himself, he stood and slipped out of his trousers and briefs. He bent to pick them up and put them on the bed, and she hopped off the vanity and turned around. It confused him at first. But then she braced herself on the table with her forearms. “Come on,” she whispered. </p>
<p>The sight of her bowed over like that, asking him to fill her, was undeniably arousing. But this was something new. They'd been exploring gradually. Despite his complete trust in her, he had to question it. “It’s- It’s hard to see you this way. Your face.”</p>
<p>“That’s what the mirror’s for.” Her eyes were wicked when they met his in the glass. </p>
<p><em>Ah.</em> He chuckled, feeling silly for not knowing that. Then she pressed back, the swell of her buttocks nudging his hard-on. When she held herself open for him, he stopped doubting. Letting the clutch of her walls and her soft moans guide him, he slowly entered her. </p>
<p>When he was engulfed in her completely, he stilled and gazed at the mirror. The reflection made him snort - his greasepaint was smeared all over, the white, red, and blue smudged together inseparably, much like their two bodies. It was odd to see himself standing there - he wasn't sure if he liked it. So he blinked down at her face; he held his breath. He hadn’t even done anything, and she looked like she was about to get off. Then he felt the flicker of her fingertips on his cock. Reaching around her and between her legs, he said, “Let me.” She obliged, allowing him to entwine their fingers as she stroked herself. </p>
<p>Her words came out as a whimper. “Arthur...” She pushed towards him. “I need you to move.” </p>
<p>Eagerly, he withdrew and bucked into her, grunting and quickly speeding up. But he was too clumsy and slipped out of her. They both laughed as she grasped him and lined him up with her entrance. “Just go easy,” she said. “Don’t pull out too far.” Concentrating, he put his other hand on her hip and did his best to control the shallow rocking of his hips. The one or two inches of friction wasn’t enough for him; it seemed to be working for her, though. But it was hard to maintain his rhythm when the sound of her ass and thighs hitting him was making him want to lose himself completely. </p>
<p>Releasing her hand, he straightened a bit and allowed his gaze to rove over her. She was writhing beneath him, bent forward as she chased her pleasure. His touch ghosted up her spine, gentle along the faint knobs (much less prominent than his) under her smooth skin. Kneading her left shoulder, he looked at her reflection. Her head was tilted back, her brows stitched together as she strove back towards him. The lips he loved to kiss parted with every whine. And her breasts swayed with each thrust, their stiff peaks grazing the surface of the table. </p>
<p>A groan escaped him. He’d seen her expression contort in bliss a lot at this point. But it felt voyeuristic, watching her like this. Almost as if the mirror separated them in spite of their joining. A shiver went up him at the thrill of it, and he plunged faster, his palm on her side pulling her towards him. She met him, move for move, even as her hips stuttered, and he felt the familiar spasm of her muscles start around him. He drove inside her, hard, when she fell apart, and stayed buried deep while she rode out her climax. It wasn’t easy to do, the pulsing grip of her core nearly inducing him to move. She sobbed, her frame curling as she lowered her head to her vanity. Gasping, she squeezed his hand on her shoulder. The trembling of her legs caught his attention, so he rubbed her thigh soothingly and kissed her.</p>
<p>Once she’d relaxed, he left her body long enough to turn her around, set her on the table, and fill her again. Now he wasn’t patient. His lips devoured her mouth as he rutted within her, her walls around his hard cock flooding his senses. He hoped he’d never get use to this. At the building tautness of his muscles, he propped himself up on the vanity and grit his teeth. One of her hands held his hip, the other digging the small of his back, guiding him as he fucked her with abandon. “Arthur, don’t stop."</p>
<p>His movements faltered when her legs encircled his waist, then sudden, white hot fire consumed him. Everything disappeared as he moaned in the crook of her neck - everything that wasn't her. She gripped him tightly, her soft "Yes" caressing his ear and his heart. His toes curled into the carpet and his pelvis locked with hers, his essence pouring inside her, his length throbbing, surrounded by her heat.</p>
<p>Finally, he was able to straighten and catch his breath. He could feel her smile against his temple, and he patted her flank gently before he withdrew from her. First he sat on the edge of the bed, then let himself lay down and raked his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes. That had been intense. And a work out. He could feel the sweat on his scalp. He’d have to shower again. </p>
<p>He hadn’t realized Sarah had stepped out until she reclined next to him and pressed a warm washcloth to his forehead. “Sorry about your make-up.”</p>
<p>“I think I can forgive you,” he laughed. His fingertips dragged up her side as he looked at her washed face in wonder. The gentle way she was dabbing at him, the love she radiated, would never stop being remarkable. This was one of the moments she made him believe he was the luckiest man in Gotham, despite the wretchedness that had been most of his life, and the conditions he struggled with.</p>
<p>Arthur accepted the cloth from her and sat up, watching as she stood and washed the vanity's surface. “Did you like it?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Yes.” He wiped the greasepaint from his skin. “Were you always like this?”</p>
<p>Sarah glanced over her shoulder. “Like what?”</p>
<p>Unsure how to describe it, he gestured at her vaguely.  “I dunno. Out there?”</p>
<p>"Out there?" she snorted. "I think you mean vocal." With a shake of her head, she knelt in front of him and rested her forearms on his knees. “That came with experience. And you may not be. That's fine. You'll figure it out.” Then she nuzzled at his nose. “It helps when you're with the right person.”</p>
<p>His chest swelled at that description of him, that she regarded him as such, and he put his arm around her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. Then he quirked a brow at her, touching the marks his paint had left on her chest. “Does this mean you have a thing for clowns?”</p>
<p>The tickling of his ribs wasn’t entirely unexpected. “No." She nestled against him and kissed his jaw. "I have a thing for you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Knot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur and Sarah finally have the wedding they discussed on their sprint to City Hall.</p>
<p>This was requested by @sweet-nothings04. It is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter for the support and beta-reading!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nightly routine Sarah had developed over the years was a simple one. Her barely-there foundation, neutral eyeshadow, eyeliner, and light mascara would be washed away with soap and water. After changing into a nightgown, she'd brush her teeth and hair. Moisturizing cream would be dabbed on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. (A couple of thin lines had formed at the corners of her mouth, and she hoped to prevent more.) She'd crawl into bed beside Arthur, they'd talk and cuddle, then she'd kiss him good night and wait for sleep to take her. It was a relaxing end to the day that didn't require a lot of effort.</p>
<p>But this evening was not routine. What Patricia seemed to have planned for it put Sarah's habits to shame. Peeking into the mint green satchel she'd brought caused a grimace. It was possible the clay and honey cosmetic masks wouldn't be too bad. The toe separators and nail polish and pumice stones didn't interest her. And the floral, spray-in hair perfume was pungent. God. All this fuss prompted Sarah to pour the both of them the rest of the wine.</p>
<p>"This is too much for me." Sarah frowned in the bathroom mirror and examined the mud on her face. "How long do I need to keep this on?" she asked, the alcohol making her grumble.</p>
<p>"Ten minutes." Patricia set a timer and placed it on the sink. "And don't whine. This stuff is why no one knows I'm over fifty."</p>
<p>"And here I assumed it was your vibrant personality." After taking a sip from her glass, Sarah turned to the tub. There were about five inches of hot water in it, topped with pink foam that smelled like artificial roses. It reminded her of the dusty, scented candles her grandmother had kept in the bathroom, but never lit. Patricia sat on the edge, dipped her feet in and waved for Sarah to join her.</p>
<p>Patricia started scrubbing the ball of her foot. "Are you excited?"</p>
<p>Sarah made a thoughtful noise. When she and Arthur had gotten married at city hall a year ago, she hadn't needed a wedding - she'd needed to be married to him. He'd wished for one, though, and she'd promised him that. "The wedding I had before was stressful. I could go without it." A gentle smile came across her cheeks. "But I am for him." She sighed contently as she submerged her feet. "When we were filling out the invitations a month ago, he was so happy. He pasted one in his journal - he showed me the page - and put exclamation points all around it."</p>
<p>That wasn't all he'd done. Arthur had convinced her to practice a slow dance to one of his mood music records. It hadn't taken much effort for him to talk her into it. ("I've imagined this a lot," he'd told her.) She figured she'd gotten pretty good, having learned to let him lead her instead of trying to anticipate his steps. His generous encouragements and the pleasure in his eyes had helped.</p>
<p>Snorting, Patricia grabbed a nearby smoother and began working on her heel. "How did a hard-ass like you end up with a sweet man like him?"</p>
<p>"<em>He</em> thinks I'm sweet." Sarah shook her head, splashing around with her toes. "Don't tell him he's been had."</p>
<p>At the buzzing of the timer, Sarah sprung up and went to the sink. Getting the mask off was as annoying as she'd suspected. The packaging said to use a cloth, lukewarm water, and circular motions. But the clay was stubborn and didn't want to leave her face. Patricia apparently found it hilarious, laughing all the harder when Sarah looked at her with indignation. Three washrags and an empty glass of wine later, her skin was clear. Irritated, but clear.</p>
<p>Patricia gestured over her shoulder as she dried off. "There's a present for you in my bag. You said no gifts, but it's nothing. And I didn't want to give it to you in front of Robert and Matt tomorrow."</p>
<p>Intrigued, Sarah retrieved the bag from the floor and sat next to her on the tub's edge. Matt, Sarah's former boss, she could understand. But what would Patricia give her that she didn't want her own husband to see? It only took a little digging to find the box, slightly bigger than her hand, with a red ribbon around it. "You shouldn't have." She opened it and pulled out what was inside. Her best friend had given her a black, satin thong with side ties. She stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. "It's so tiny," she exclaimed, the triangle front barely large enough to cover her palm. "I don't have the ass for this!"</p>
<p>Winking, Patricia nudged her upper arm. "It won't stay on long enough for Arthur to notice."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Arthur was at a pub with a friend for the first time in his life. He'd been to comedy clubs plenty of times, and Sarah had introduced him to numerous restaurants. But his general lack of interest in drinking and absence of companionship had never made bars a desirable destination. It had been Gary's idea, though. And with his company, Arthur was part of the crowd instead of apart from it.</p>
<p>They were seated at a small booth near the kitchen, away from everyone. Their conversation was sparse. Despite his overall increase in comfort, Arthur still had a hard time with social situations. Granted, Sarah had told him he was steadily getting better at them. And now, with the effect of the Fuzzy Navel in his hand, he was doing all right. There had been no forced laughter (which only happened a few times a month), no bouncing of his legs, and no nail biting. He was proud of himself for that, especially given the hint of nervousness he felt.</p>
<p>Tomorrow was their big day. The wedding was going to be at their apartment. There would only be four guests: he'd made it clear Penny wasn't welcome, and the elderly woman Sarah had invited, Ms. McPhee, had declined with an apology and cookies, saying she was too ill to go anywhere. Dinner would be potluck style. Finally, he'd fucking have what he'd dreamed about for years. Although it was implied every time he touched Sarah, he'd get to vow, publicly, to stay with her forever. To take care of her, no matter their circumstances. To love her ceaselessly. And, he reflected, she'd promise to belong to him, too. He grinned around his cigarette as he smoked, looking into his drink, joy rushing through him at the thought.</p>
<p>Gary took a swig of his porter. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Arthur answered without hesitation. "But I don't know why Sarah wanted me to spend the night out. We're already married."</p>
<p>"You can't sleep with the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."</p>
<p>Tradition. His chest tightened at that. Tradition hadn't meant anything most of this life, anything besides futile yearning. He couldn't remember if he'd been read to as a kid. Lost teeth probably ended up in the garbage. Holidays had always been too expensive to take part in, and with Penny's apathy and all the hours he'd worked, he hadn't had the energy to try. He was glad to be making up the deficit with Sarah. Still. This was an odd custom, and not really applicable to them. "But I've been sleeping with her for two years." Almost as soon as he spoke, he realized his double entendre. He brought a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Sorry, Gary."</p>
<p>A sly smile crossed Gary's face, but he didn't seem upset. Which made sense - filthy jokes and dirty tales often flew around the locker room at HaHa's. The shorter man reached into the breast pocket of his striped shirt, then held out a small package. "Here. I got this for you."</p>
<p>Curious, Arthur examined the cellophane enclosed carton. The teal box of NoDoz said it would keep him awake, was fast acting, and safe as coffee. And there was a sentence, written in a cursive font on the bottom edge: "Number 1 with Newlyweds!" Oh. <em>Oh.</em> He knew what they were for. Once in a while he'd come across The Honeymoon Game when flipping through channels. The tablets were often mentioned, along with comments about "being busy all night long." The burning in his cheeks only amplified his giggles as he tucked them in his pocket. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, too."</p>
<p>"You're welcome. It's just the sofa." Gary gave a shrug. "What time did you want to get back home?"</p>
<p>Arthur recalled the list of errands Sarah had helped him make. He had to stop at the flower stand near their place and get a white carnation for himself and a bunch for her. Garlic bread needed to be ordered at Marchetti's, to go with the lasagna Sarah was attempting. He wanted to give himself a good half hour to change, fix his hair, and practice saying what he'd written.</p>
<p>Gary agreed getting back to the apartment in the early afternoon would be fine. Arthur wasn't expecting his follow-up question. "How'd you know she was the one for you?"</p>
<p>Trying to hide the embarrassment behind his answer, he sipped his cocktail. "Gary, no other woman ever wanted to be with me."</p>
<p>"I'm sure that's not true," Gary replied. Arthur didn't move to correct him. Maybe he'd successfully hidden his prior failures from his former co-workers by simply not joining in when they all talked about women.</p>
<p>It took time to come up with a response. When he gave it, the words were quiet, his tone almost reverent. "She never acted like there was something wrong with me." The corner of his mouth quirked up as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "No one else ever did that. Not even my mother." Realizing he may have insulted Gary, he backtracked quickly. "You- You were always nice."</p>
<p>Gary visibly brightened and waved at a waiter to order them both another round. Arthur sat back against the torn cushion of the booth, already slightly dizzy from the first one. It was going to a long, hopefully good, night.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The preparation for the 4:00 PM ceremony did not go as smoothly as planned. The dish Patricia brought, which she had wanted to keep a surprise, was macaroni and cheese. Sarah ran out and bought three salads from the deli so there'd be an option besides pasta. She'd made a small tear in the hem of her light blue wedding dress, one she'd picked up at a consignment shop, when she'd gotten caught on a doorway. And Arthur insisted on not seeing her in her dress beforehand, so she spent most of the time cooped up in the bathroom. She could hear Arthur's hushed tones as he paced the living room and spoke to Gary ("I'm gonna fuck up. What if I start laughing?"), and Gary trying to reassure him ("Arthur, just read it.").</p>
<p>But those snags were nothing compared to the issues at her first wedding. The flowers had never arrived. The cake topper had fallen, splitting the groom's head in half and breaking off the bride's arm. And, about halfway through it, she'd realized she was making a mistake. Presently, standing in front of the mirror while she fiddled with her high, split neckline and waited for Patricia to get her, she knew she hadn't erred. Doubt never entered her mind when it came to Arthur - only love, happiness, and gratitude.</p>
<p>When the door opened, Sarah ran her palm along the embroidered lace of the dress's bodice, smoothed the chiffon of the full-length, A-Line skirt, pulled at the wrists of the long, translucent sleeves, and took a deep breath. Her heart quickened when the faint notes of Arthur's favorite, sentimental Jackie Gleason Orchestra LP reached her ears. She stepped out. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, leaving space in the middle of the room. Their four friends stood there expectantly. Then she looked at Arthur, and the excitement she'd told Patricia she felt for him suddenly became her own.</p>
<p>He'd slicked back his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be formal, curls loose around his ears. The white button-up he was wearing was a tad large around the shoulders. But the likely second-hand black vest and trousers he wore fit perfectly. The carnation in the waistcoat's breast pocket was a nice addition. He was wearing his red and yellow tie, still the only one he owned, in spite of it being part of his Carnival outfit.  As she approached him steadily, she studied his face. The affection in his soft expression caused her breath to hitch, as did the drawing together of his dark brow as he admired her. She giggled, hoping he liked the nontraditional dress.</p>
<p>There was no need for the question, however. As soon as their hands met, he clutched hers and smiled. The autumn sun, which was already halfway down the sky, brought out the deep chestnut undertones of his brown waves. And the clear green of his irises glistened beautifully in the bright light. If it would have been acceptable, she would have kissed him on the spot. Instead, she settled for mouthing, "You're gorgeous." The blush that resulted, the way he lowered his head as he grinned happily, and his silent, "You, too," made her stomach flutter.</p>
<p>Listening to what the yellow-pages officiant said was nigh impossible. And from the expression on Arthur's face, he couldn't concentrate, either. But they managed to get through the basic vows, those same, time-honored words spoken at nearly every wedding she'd attended. (Except for "worshiping" and "obeying" - she'd insisted those parts be removed, explaining they were equals.) They'd each come up with their own short pieces, too, and at his insistence, she went first. "I didn't come to Gotham to find love. I just wanted to leave everything behind. Then I met you. You made getting remarried the easier decision I've ever made."</p>
<p>What Arthur said in return, reading softly but clearly from a worn piece of paper, had her beat. "People think I'm weird. But you don't." His Adam's apple bobbed and a slight tremor entered his voice. "You're my one and only person that can understand me." His rasp turned into a hiccup at the end, and he sniffled and scoffed while he tucked his notes away. The clench of her throat was immediate, and she threw her arms around him, not waiting for the words "you may kiss the bride" before joining their lips.</p>
<p>~~~~~~</p>
<p>A wedding day was supposed to be special. Out of the ordinary. Exceptional. Anything but regular. But Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt normal for as many hours in a row as he did today. The flash of a pocket-camera when he'd cupped Sarah's face and kissed her after she'd lunged at him. Their short dance, with the shallow dip they'd practiced and her stepping on his foot only once or twice. The gentle "I love you" he'd murmured against her lips. The acceptance of her friends when they congratulated them both. All of these extraordinary moments coalesced into a warm, tender, soothing ache that, in spite of his doubts, confirmed he was a real person, worthy and capable of love.</p>
<p>The glass door opened behind him, and, expecting Sarah to drag him back inside, he flicked his cigarette away. But upon turning he saw Patricia, drink in her hand. They'd spoken briefly a few times since initially meeting a couple years ago. Arthur didn't yet have a clear impression of her. Sarah and she were close, he knew, and they often met for lunch. And Patricia had helped her try to stop the Wayne Foundation case from going forward. Observing the older woman, he noted the gray scattered throughout her hair, the lines on her face that were less prominent than his own, the minimal rouge on her cheeks. She reminded him of Penny before her health had declined. Before everything had changed.</p>
<p>"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, indicating the pack he was holding.</p>
<p>He blinked at her. "Sure."</p>
<p>She stepped to him as he retrieved one for her. After she plucked it from him and placed it between her lips, she took his lighter. "Sarah doesn't know. Keep it that way. You may not have picked up on it yet, but she can be bossy."</p>
<p>Chuckling, he cocked his head. Sarah had warned him about her bossiness early on, but it wasn't as bad as she'd claimed. Sure, she was assertive about certain things. But smoking was the only thing she was overly pushy about. The reason for her nagging prevented it from being more than a minor annoyance, though: she wanted them to spend a hundred years together, she'd said, instead of him dying prematurely of lung cancer. Blunt to a fault, as usual, with an inkling of sweetness underneath.</p>
<p>"Sarah was crazy about you from the start," Patricia said, pulling him out of his musings.</p>
<p>A glow blossomed in his chest and he dropped his gaze bashfully. "She talked about me?"</p>
<p>She smirked up at him, as if she was about to reveal a secret. "She gave me a note with hearts and exclamation points on it after you slept together."</p>
<p>Eyes widening, he turned back towards the street and focused on a manhole cover. It shouldn't have surprised him - he'd spoken with Gary about Sarah - but it did. And meant the world to him. But he was beginning to wonder what else she'd disclosed. Christ, was Patricia aware he'd been inexperienced? Had Sarah said he'd done a good job? Had she...Could she have talked about his body, the way the men at HaHa's described the women they were seeing? Those notions were laughable, he tried to tell himself, and attempted to push through them amid his growing discomfort.</p>
<p>Patricia gave his forearm a maternal pat, allaying his unease. "It was because you were gentle with her." He watched her angle her body towards the window and peer inside, and he followed her gaze. Sarah was pointing at a spot in the living room for the folding table they'd rented, along with six chairs. "She's gritty - she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has you to let go with."</p>
<p>Nodding slowly, Arthur understood. He was a good partner, a good husband to Sarah. And it wasn't only the woman he loved more than his own life saying it - it was her closest friend, her confidante. Intermittently, his conditions made it difficult, particularly on those days when he needed repeated validation, or the fury he carried deep within him threatened to bubble up. (Though it had gotten better with treatment, the stability his life now had, and Sarah's support.) Patricia recognized that he was trying and believed he was doing well. Accomplishment wasn't a sensation he often experienced, but the foreign sensation creeping into him must have been it. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "I love her a lot, too."</p>
<p>They went inside and put up the chairs and set the table. There wasn't a table cloth, but Sarah had taken out their "good plates," with gold filigree on the rims. One of their cotton napkins went missing, so Sarah put a paper towel under her cutlery. After he lit the two cream taper candles he'd found in a drawer, everything looked perfect.</p>
<p>The food and drink were something else. The only macaroni and cheese Arthur had ever had come out of a box. Patricia's tasted savory rather than salty, but he wasn't sure if he liked the tomatoes it had in it. Although the pasta was too soft, Sarah's lasagna was good, if a bit heavy on the sauce. The garlic bread helped with that. The salad was mostly ignored; he only ate the small serving she stuck on his plate. The scotch Gary brought was passed between himself, Matt, and Robert. Arthur did try a sip, but it was exceedingly strong and stole his breath. He decided to stick with wine.</p>
<p>As the evening went on, Arthur grew pleasantly warm and drowsy. Sarah and Patricia had taken over most of the banter, guffawing and being mildly foolish. Matt had brought a chocolate sheet cake for twenty-four instead of six, and Sarah had to hold her stomach to quiet her tipsy laughter when it was sliced. Arthur's hand crept to her thigh and squeezed lovingly, his eyes locked on her with adoration. The depth of his feelings, his keen awareness of her, her presence at his side, was drowning out the rest of the room. It didn't take long for her to turn to him and mouth, "Let's say good night."</p>
<p>Sarah sent everyone home with leftovers and a hug, and forced Matt to take most of the cake with him. Gary gave Arthur a wink and a nod as he left, and Arthur snorted as he shook his head and shut the door. Propping himself against it, he sighed, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head. She came up behind him and kissed his shoulder. "Patricia's going to have the photos developed in triplicate and give us the negatives."</p>
<p>He twisted to face her and put his arm around her shoulders, slightly dizzy. "Does that mean we'll get copies?"</p>
<p>Giggling, she pressed into him and nuzzled his cheek. "Yes. We'll get three copies." She looked up at him as she leaned back. The ardor in her gaze made his pulse skip a beat. Then she lead him to the bedroom without preamble, blowing out the candles on the way.</p>
<p>He'd read and seen enough to recognize what was expected of him. This was their wedding night. It was when the music would swell and the screen dissolved to black in the old movies he would watch. He was supposed to take charge and make love to her. And he wanted to. Truly. But he'd eaten more than he usually did in two days. That combined with only having slept a couple of hours the previous night, anticipation having kept him awake on Gary's couch, lead to the tiredness he now felt.</p>
<p>Her hands were everywhere, though, roaming his back as their mouths melded together. Arthur slid his tongue between her lips, and he could taste the wine they'd toasted with and spent the rest of the night drinking. Breathing raggedly, he swallowed her moan and held the nape of her neck. When she presented her back to him, he paused before caressing the lace on the back panels of her dress. He took the dainty zipper between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled it down. The intimacy of what was happening, of <em>Arthur Fleck</em> unfastening the dress of his bride, made him shudder. Once the bodice was completely undone, he pushed his forehead to her and kissed the soft skin at the top of her back.</p>
<p>The dress fell slowly, catching on her breasts and hips as she brought it down. When she turned to him, his brows lifted. She was wearing the smallest pair of black panties he had ever seen. They barely covered her sex. He huffed. "Where did these come from?"</p>
<p>A grin broke out across her cheeks. "Patricia was convinced you'd love them."</p>
<p>Smirking, he gave a little nod. "I do." They were tied at her waist. If he just pulled the string, she'd be revealed to him. "You're so pretty." His fingers teased a bow, trying to will himself to perform. But he wasn't feeling it. "Um." He chuckled sadly, knowing he was about to disappoint her. "I ate too much. And I think I'm drunk. I'm sorry." He winced and looked away from her.</p>
<p>Sarah stared at him, then laughed throatily and squeezed him close. "Oh, thank god. Me, too. It's been a busy day."</p>
<p>His grasp on her tightened. "But a good one?"</p>
<p>"A wonderful one." She pecked his mouth and moved towards the bed, not bothering to take off her bra before slipping beneath the blankets. "You can untie me in the morning."</p>
<p>As Arthur undressed, he folded each piece of clothing and placed it on top of the vanity. He'd take care of it whenever they got up. By the time he sat on the bed in his briefs to take off his socks, Sarah's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. Sleep always seemed to come easily to her. Carefully, he got in beside her and stroked her hair back. Not wanting to wake her but needing to touch her, he kissed her brow bone faintly, gliding his fingers along her cheek. Then he ran his hand down her side and teased the string on her hip, loosening the knot until he could whisper his fingertips over her without obstruction. She mumbled quietly but didn't stir.</p>
<p>Smiling, he breathed against her temple. "I hadn't been happy one minute of my entire fucking life before you." He sniffled and swiped at his nose, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes I am now. Like today." He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, his arm going around her waist to tuck her back against him. "Thanks, Sarah Fleck."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Adjusting (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur moved in with Sarah nearly two weeks ago. It takes more getting used to than he’d thought.</p><p>Another request by the wonderful @sweet-nothings04. Thank you to the amazing @ithinkimawriter for beta-reading and her support!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur was pensive as he sat at her small, round dining table. (Their table. Theirs. When was he going to remember to use the right word?) Pen in hand, he sought relief. The multitude of changes since moving to 4A in Burnley, since moving in with Sarah a week and about a half ago, had kept his brain distracted enough to stop his negative thoughts, at least for a couple of days. But they were back in full force. It was discouraging - he'd believed the temporary break might have been permanent. It had been foolish to hope, though he couldn't have stopped himself from wishing it.</p><p>Sarah had taken Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday off to help him settle in. They'd been side-by-side for five days, the most time they'd spent together at once. It had felt close to what he'd imagined a honeymoon would be like, and every hour had strengthened that association. He'd cherished it deeply, but he kept it to himself. He'd shouldn't have been picturing himself the happy groom and her his blushing bride after only three and a half months of dating.</p><p>When she'd returned to work Monday, it had been unexpectedly difficult for him. And his unease had grown over the next days. It wasn't that he was alone - he was used to being on his own. But he found that without her there, he felt out of sorts. Almost like a guest in a fancy hotel, regardless of how often he'd been there before and her insistence that he wasn't.</p><p>His old place had been run down, and everything in it, from appliances to the mismatched curtains, was outdated. But it had been his home and he'd been comfortable there. With all the evenings Sarah had spent in 8J after Penny left to go to long-term care, his memories of it had started to be positive. When she'd had work to do, he'd rummaged around while she'd sat at his breakfast bar, reading court documents he'd snuck a peek at but hadn't understood. Their first Christmas together, the first holiday that had meant a damn to him, had been celebrated in his living room. They'd watched shows on the old color TV, with its dials and wooden casing. And he'd made love to her on the couch, that piece of furniture he'd spent lonely nights on most of his life.</p><p>Maintaining separate residences had meant that Arthur's space and what he could do in it were clear. He'd had his own household to run and had managed to keep busy between the occasional job. Now he felt lost. Sarah had told him to take his own actions, to not worry about upsetting her, that as long as he didn't do something drastic to the apartment, there'd be no issue. Yet, even with her reassurances, he felt as though he needed permission. He didn't want to ruin her nice office wear by laundering it with his own, faded clothing. And he was unsure if she'd like him rearranging the kitchen cabinets a bit (because coffee and sugar should be on the same shelf).</p><p>It wasn't her fault. She'd done and continued to do everything she could to help him feel at home. New towels had been hung up for him in the bathroom. They'd gone shopping together and picked up the dish soap he used, his favorite seltzer, and sheets to match his green blanket. He'd hooked up his VCR, too, and they'd watched one of his old movies, just like before.</p><p>But his mind was stopping him from enjoying himself, as usual. He'd tried picturing a big red stop sign, speaking the words aloud to sap away the intrusive thoughts' power, both techniques he'd recently learned from his doctor. They weren't working tonight, however. So he started writing. "I signed up for another open-mike night, but that's in to weeks - to whole weeks!" He pulled at a piece of chestnut hair as he continued. "I half Sarah all the time. Its good but she's going to get tired of me. I'm tired of myself. I want to feel fresh for her when she gets home. Which is in two hours, so I better hurry the hell up!"</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>The sun had already set and a deep chill was in the air. It wasn't a surprise; February was Gotham's coldest month. Arthur stood in the partially open doorway, watching the light snow fall onto the fire escape, the flakes illuminated by the streetlights and lamps of the living room. Journaling had helped, and nicotine tempered him mildly. Still, his brain was racing, so much so he nearly felt numb. Part of him wondered if moving in with Sarah had been a mistake. Yes, he was thirty-five and most men seemed to move out when they were eighteen. But he wasn't like most people. And though he knew he'd taken the right step, his doubts tightened his sinews and muscles.</p><p>He didn't hear the closing of the front door. Or the clink of her keys on the kitchen counter. His first indication that she'd come home was her loose grip on his sides. "How was your day?" she asked.</p><p><em>Hard</em>. "Okay." Letting out a smoky breath, he took a step forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the stairs. "Yours?"</p><p>"Long." She didn't move forward, allowing the space he'd created between them. "There are nine hearings on the trailing docket tomorrow. I'm going to be in court until five." Her bones popped as she stretched behind him. "What do you want for dinner?"</p><p>"I'm not hungry."</p><p>She pulled him inside and closed the door behind them. "Here," she said, then brushed her fingers through his hair. "You've got snow on you."</p><p>A small chuckle left him and he bent his head to help her. "Oh."</p><p>"Where did your pajamas and thermals go?" she asked as she patted his chest. "You're always so buttoned up." Before he could bring himself to stop her, she'd opened his brown cardigan. Her kneading of his bony shoulders, the care she was showing him, made him wince and look at the floor. How could he explain his troubles, his concern, without hurting her?</p><p>But then she relieved him of that burden by starting the conversation herself. "Change isn't easy," she said. "You miss your old place." When he grasped her hand, he folded their fingers together and swallowed. Her arm went around him. "It doesn't mean you love me any less."</p><p>Both annoyed at and thankful for her perception, he frowned. She'd gotten too good at reading him, better than he was at interpreting her. He was working on it, though. "It's silly." He waved, trying to dismiss his discomfort. Then he tucked his chin. "I don't want you to think I don't wanna be here."</p><p>She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'll never think that, Arthur."</p><p>His forehead rested against her temple. "I'm trying."</p><p>"I know. Did you write any jokes today?"</p><p>His arms encircled her and pulled her to him as he nodded. "What's the difference between Arkham's patients and doctors?"</p><p>The hold she had on him tightened, even as her voice was light. This had become a pattern: sweet puns on good days, darker wisecracks on rough days. "Their types of files?"</p><p>The punchlines she gave were always too cerebral. Nestling in her hair, he closed his eyes. "The patients get better and leave."</p><p>Laughing, she pulled away from him. The grin he gave her was small, the stroking of her jaw short. But he hoped they were enough to tell her he was going to be all right. Especially with her by his side. Her cheeks turned pink in response. "I think I have a way to make you feel better," she said.</p><p>Eagerly, he let her lead him to the bathroom. It was with relief he watched her grab the soap from the sink, take out two new washcloths, and start the shower. They hadn't made love for eleven days; he missed it - it was a comfort to him. Her monthly had started right before the move, and, while he'd needed her, he'd been too tense to get in the mood since it had ended.</p><p>She helped him out of his sweater and hung it on one of the hooks he'd installed on the door. The white shirt he wore was undone hastily, both of them fumbling with the buttons. When she reached for the fly of his pants, he cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. He felt her smile as she nudged his nose with hers. Then she backed away and stripped out of her champagne blouse, revealing the plain, beige bra she wore underneath. She slipped out of her skirt, too, leaving it on the floor, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet to take off her pantyhose. "I've been wanting to do this for awhile."</p><p>Though his mind was still busy, the speed of his thoughts was decreasing. And she was cheering him up. He propped himself on the sink and took off his white socks.  "It's a little slippery in there," he said wryly.</p><p>"I'll have you know I'm a pretty good ice-skater. For a Southern girl, at least." That was an image he'd have to remember. Maybe they could try it out at Gotham Park before the end of winter. She removed her underthings and put on the radio, which was set to Arthur's favorite AM station, the one that played music from the thirties and forties. "Besides, I'll have you to break my fall." Then she stepped in the tub.</p><p>They hadn't showered together before. It reminded him of the night they'd lain in the bath, when he'd realized her love for him wasn't a trick. Would he feel the same closeness without laying in her arms? Sliding his pants and briefs down his legs, he got in beside her and shut the reeded glass door. The space was a couple inches narrower than his old one, but because there wasn't a curtain that would annoyingly cling to him, it felt bigger. It was a bit longer, too. And the shower head was at a good height, though he was still getting used to the higher water pressure.</p><p>The steam rising above them, the pelt of droplets against his back, the foot of space between them - he took it all in, peering at her, hands clasped in front of him. She was already rinsing suds out of her hair. Was he supposed to start washing in front of her? Pressing his lips together, he picked up his shampoo. But she stopped him and took the plastic bottle. "Let me."</p><p>"I can do it," he said, trying to grab it. Apparently ignoring him, she turned him around so his chest faced the wall, then got his hair all wet. It felt childish at first, but he realized that was silly. She'd never treated him that way, not once since they'd met. So he went along with what she was doing and tried to relax. The sensation of her massaging him made that easy.</p><p>She slowed as Lawrence Welk started playing, the song muffled by the humidity of the room. "This music is older than I am." There was a slight tugging on his scalp as she got caught in his loose curls. "You really like antiques."</p><p>"That's why I'm with you." He chuckled at himself when she swatted his bottom, proud of his quick comeback. But then his eye started to burn and he squinted. "Shit. Hold on," he said, lifting his face towards the shower head.</p><p>The rub of the washcloth across his shoulders, then lower and lower still, prompted him to look down. She'd stepped closer, one of her feet between his. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked, her fingertips ghosting over his heated skin. He found he could only nod. "Good." The cloth fell to the bottom of the tub, next to their feet, the impact splashing his ankle.</p><p>Her arms snaked around him, and he shut his eyes at the press of her breasts to his back . Her palm went to his chest, then glided down, teasing each rib until she reached his taut abdomen. He responded to her caresses, growing erect as she got closer to his dark curls. A huff left his parted lips as her fingers enclosed around his length, gently sliding up and down. The slick of the soap let her slip over him easily, and it felt incredible, even moreso because he'd yearned for it. It only took a few seconds for him to harden to the point where it was painful.</p><p>He bit his lip, her delicate grazes causing him to tremble. But then she started to withdraw, and he thought she'd mistaken his reaction. He grasped her hand and opened his eyes. "Don't. Please."</p><p>"Tell me what you want," she said against his shoulder.</p><p>What he wanted? He longed for Sarah to take his last name (even though it was far too soon to suggest that), to make it feel like it was his again after the lies he’d uncovered. He needed to accept that he belonged in her home, in <em>their</em> home, and stop doubting. And now, with their legs entwined under the flowing water, he wanted her to keep touching him.</p><p>Challenging himself, he watched as he slowly guided her over his cock. The eroticism of the sight halted his breathing. "Sarah..," he groaned, bracing his forearm on the dark blue tile wall. Her fingertips reached out and traced the edge of his swollen, red head, and he rutted forward. When her nails dug the skin of his thigh, he thrust into her touch again. Her breath was hot on his neck as her hips followed his. It was becoming too much too fast - he wanted to be inside her instead of spending all over their hands and the floor.</p><p>Spinning to face her, he clasped her sides and drew her flush to him, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. Her eyelids were heavy, her pupils dilated with desire. Drops ran down the plains of her face from her hair, over her brow and cheekbones. Unable to wait any longer, he tilted his head and pressed his mouth to her. The contact burned and he twisted them to press her against the wall, slipping his tongue between her lips. She took his erection, then, and brought it to her labia.</p><p>At first Arthur was surprised, believing her to be going too quickly for the intimacy he craved. But instead of taking him inside her, she slid his tip over her burning, wet folds, and he bucked towards her. Her giggle was wicked, but turned to a soft moan as she went faster and shivered. She was teasing them both, and every swipe of him along her core tickled the nerve endings up and down his shaft.</p><p>He hungered to taste her, and batted her hand away before kissing down the side of her neck, fondling her breast as he thumbed the peak of it. Her soft cry bounced off the glass door, and his fingers went between her legs, sinking into her  soft center. His open-mouth and tongue followed as he knelt before her. The musky scent of her filled his senses as he nuzzled the feminine curve of her abdomen. Just as he was getting into the right position, the spray of the shower hit the side of his face and ear unpleasantly and he flinched.</p><p>Sarah giggled and stroked his hair away from his forehead with sympathy, then inched down the wall towards the end of the tub, holding his arm as he followed on his knees. It felt slapstick - he had to laugh at his own awkwardness. But that faded as soon as he gazed up at her. One foot was situated on her side of the tub, opening her wide to him. Rivulets were trailing down her shoulders, the slopes of her chest, catching on her nipples. And she was smiling down at him, affection as clear as the water they were standing and kneeling in. "This was supposed to be about you."</p><p>"It still is," he rasped as he spread her lips with his thumbs, then licked a line from her entrance to her clit. Her response was immediate, rolling into his mouth and calling his name. He kept his eyes on her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts with each exhalation, and the way her head tipped to touch the tiles. One of her hands went to the ceramic soap dish on the wall, holding it in a white-knuckle grip, while the other went to his shoulder.</p><p>It was funny, he reflected, even as he laved at her. He'd fantasized about this act within the first week of meeting her. From what he'd seen and heard, women were supposed to like it. He hadn't expected to enjoy it as much as he did, though. The strength of her responses always made him feel good about himself - and turned him on beyond belief. And knowing no one else was allowed to do this to her, that she was his alone, satisfied him.</p><p>There was more of her slick with every sweep of the tip of his tongue, and he savored its taste as he closed his lips around her clitoral hood. Her grip tightened as she put more of her weight on him. She must have been having a hard time continuing to stand. His palms went to her quivering thighs and he pushed, anchoring her as her slight movements stuttered. With a series of soft cries and pants, she started throbbing against him, and he brought her tighter to his mouth, his licks tenderly persistent as he groaned into her.</p><p>Once her spasms halted, he stood and pressed his forehead to hers. With a smile on her face, she wrapped an arm around him. Then she reached between them and helped him ease up inside her. It went more smoothly than he had assumed. And he hadn't guessed it would be quite so comfortable, standing instead of laying down (which they'd always done so far). But the scorching stretch of her surrounding him felt wonderful, even at this angle.</p><p>"I missed this." Her breath brushed his jawline as the muscles around his cock tightened. “I wish you could stay inside me forever.”</p><p>A short, muffled laugh escaped him, then became an amused hum. "That's a long time." His frame shuddered as he grasped her rear, holding her as he withdrew a few centimeters. "I don't wanna go fast," he said, ending on a grunt, nuzzling her cheek.</p><p>She held the nape of his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. "Fuck me like you kiss me," she whispered. A small, pleased hiccup caught in his throat before he locked his lips with hers. Where had she learned to speak so shamelessly? It drove him crazy. He bent his head, opening his mouth to deepen their connection. But the unhurried, shallow plunging of his hips, her walls repeatedly accepting him, enveloping him, soon prevented him from concentrating on anything other than the need to finish.</p><p>She was moving, just enough to meet him, still letting him control the rhythm. Blindly, he grasped at the wall, pushing his face to her neck as he screwed his eyes shut. The newness of this, the nearly two weeks without her, and the eager clutch of her body were fighting him deliciously. It was ending too fast, and the ability to slow down was slipping away.</p><p>Somehow he was still holding himself up. He thrust harder, deeper, striving for the few seconds of serenity he only experienced after losing himself in her. One final push and the pressure in him broke, and he gasped and spilled inside her. The music in the background faded, drowned out by the hushed moans and whimpers passing between their lips as he pressed her into the tiles. Stilling, he kept himself buried in her until the gentle waves of his climax ended and his muscles went slack.</p><p>Sarah was rubbing his back, kissing his shoulder, neck, then face. His pulse skipped at those tender touches, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “Feeling better?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes." He carefully left the grip of her entrance.</p><p>Cupping his face, she leaned her nose to his cheek. “Good.” Then she grabbed the washcloth from the tub, wiped herself off, and hopped out of the shower. Arthur shook his head, smirking as he cleaned himself. When he slid the door open, she was there in her sweatshirt and pants, and she gave him his towel. “I know you prefer these,” she said, putting his thermal shirt and pajamas on the sink. “I don't want to tell you what to wear. But you can lounge in our home. Plus,” she continued, grinning, “your arms look great in that shirt.”</p><p>He deduced she must have grabbed them while he was finishing up. A bashful smile broke across his cheeks and he ducked his head. "Thanks. You always know what to say." Shrugging, he shook his head. "You always do that. Make things better." Then he took her hand and pulled her closer, leaning into her. "I really am glad I'm here." Gazing at their entwined fingers, he gave a small squeeze. "I don't ever want to leave," he said quietly.</p><p>"Don't worry," she said, tone upbeat. "You're stuck with me for good." Sarah planted a kiss on him and walked out of the bathroom. "I'll start dinner. Join me when you're ready."</p><p>Even if it was something simple, Arthur enjoyed cooking with her. Hurriedly, he wrung out and dried his hair, then ran the plush cloth over his arms, torso, and legs. Not caring his clothes were getting wet, he pulled them on and ran out after her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Comfort & Joy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur &amp; Sarah celebrate their first Christmas together. Not everything goes as planned.</p>
<p>A request from the mind of dear, sweet @ithinkimawriter. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for being the wonderful beta she is!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur was on his way to Sarah's apartment when the storefront's window captured his attention. Batting covered the floor, imitating fake snow. A plastic fireplace, painted yellow, orange, and red, was angled against the left wall. The artificial tree, bedecked with multi-color lights and a plethora of wrapped gifts underneath, shone prettily. To the right, a cardboard cutout of a couple wearing Santa hats and embracing stood in front of a brand new refrigerator. The large sign suspended from the ceiling, tied in a red bow, advertised low-interest store credit: "Make all your Christmas wishes reality!"</p>
<p>There was a sweetness to the display. A festive cheerfulness. And it induced in him an ache borne of dejection. With Penny in her parallel universe and their lack of resources, his life had never had a place for holidays. Seven or eight years ago, he'd made his last attempt at doing something special. They'd shared the turkey dinner he'd sprung for at a nearby greasy spoon. She'd been mildly cognizant of the make-up compact he'd given her, one he'd gotten off the clearance rack. Then she'd gone to bed, leaving him alone to watch the television special he'd picked out. It had been one of the rare nights he'd poured himself a drink in an attempt to sleep.</p>
<p>Smoke swirled in Gotham's cold, night air as he exhaled around his cigarette. The heaviness in his stomach, his hint of indignation perplexed him. Why on earth did he feel shitty when he had a chance to have the type of Christmas people wrote about? That Sinatra, Cole, and Martin sang about? The type he'd dreamed of, despite knowing he'd never have it? He frowned as he trudged down the street, hoping he wouldn't fuck it all up.</p>
<p>Sarah's greeting was warm as always; the refuge of her arms, the smile she reserved just for him dulled his sharpest edges. He tried to take pleasure in her simple courtesies. How she hung his tan jacket next to her coat, all the while insisting he get a hat and mittens. The hot mug she handed him, the way it thawed his slender fingers. The taste of cocoa on her silken lips as they kissed and she declared she'd missed him. </p>
<p>There was quiet conversation. She did most of the talking; he did his best to pay attention through the distraction of his anxiety. The cards had to be finished, she said. Just for her colleagues, a couple of family and friends, and, if he didn't mind, Penny. He didn't react to that last name, letting Sarah draw her own conclusions. She moved to sit side-saddle on the floor to work, next to her coffee table. As her hand crossed the cream cardstock, he noticed she was signing both their names. He gaped slightly in shock, delight spiking through him. But then delight twisted into unworthiness, and he averted his gaze to his hot chocolate.</p>
<p>He'd believed he was doing okay, though he still didn't have his medication. Especially since Penny had been transferred from Gotham General to the nursing home he'd chosen two weeks ago, and it had clicked that he'd never have to see her again. There were days he woke up (if he was fortunate enough to sleep) energized and confident. He <em>had</em> slipped into delusion once or twice. A call to Sarah or the feel of her hand had helped ground him and bring him back to lucidity. But his negative thoughts were bearing down on him. It was getting harder to separate what was intrusive and what was Arthur. If only he could find it within himself to be better.</p>
<p>Once she finished addressing the envelopes, Sarah extended a hand his way and smirked. Unsure if she wanted him to help her up or join her, he sat on the plush, cream color carpet. "I can hear you thinking. I'm surprised smoke isn't coming out of your ears," she said, laying a palm on his thigh. "You haven't told me what you want to do for Christmas."</p>
<p>He picked up one of the cards, traced his fingertips along the corners. He was bereft of his own traditions to draw from; all his points of reference were from popular culture. It was difficult to know what he'd actually like doing. He gave it a go, anyway. "I dunno. A tree? Listening to music? Being together?"</p>
<p>Chuckling, she put her head on his shoulder. "Of course we'll be together. And we can do the other stuff, too." Her voice lowered as she continued. The caress on his leg became a massage. "I get out early Thursday - Christmas Eve. How'd you feel about me being your guest for three days?" </p>
<p>"Hm." He loathed the possibility of exposing her to what was going on in his brain, his darker notions and malaise. He wanted to hold on for her. To be the gentle person she claimed he was, the man she claimed made her happy.</p>
<p>The man she was mistakenly convinced deserved her.</p>
<p>A kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'll bring dinner and everything."</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>. She thought he didn't want her, that she had to sell him on the idea of her company. He had to put a stop to that assumption. Didn't she know she'd become a brick, a building block in his unstable foundation? He couldn't deny her - he didn't wanted to deny her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her. The warmth in her eyes buoyed him enough to use what little confidence he could muster. He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it, and he forced the corner of his lips up. "I'd love that."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>There wasn't normally a spring in Sarah's step, but Arthur had a habit of causing one. She was smiling like a fool, too, walking with her suitcase and canvas bag. The happiest woman in Gotham. It couldn't be helped, even as she struggled to climb those damned concrete stairs to finally reach his block. This would be the best Christmas in ages.</p>
<p>The holiday had been her childhood favorite. But it had become taxing as her father's dementia had worsened, and her sister and she had grown apart. Not being able to leave her father unattended had forced them to celebrate at his house, which Sarah shared with him. A couple of slow cooker dishes would be made, ones her niece and nephews liked. She would do her best to make the large dining table festive, using a red tablecloth and making a centerpiece out of a wreath. Once everyone had sat around it, she'd alternate between taking a bite herself and trying to feed her father, trying to convince him to eat.</p>
<p>The final year had been the hardest. Distress had been clear in her sister and brother-in-law's faces, in their stilted conversation. The middle child had asked why grandpa wasn't talking. Sarah had never learned to communicate on a child's level, and had waited for her sister to take the lead. That hadn't happened. So she'd tried to explain the most painful, complicated situation she'd ever been in in terms a four year old could understand. When her father had started spitting out his mashed potatoes and crying, everyone had packed up and left.</p>
<p>It was understandable. Handling him was exhausting and she didn't want the kids to be traumatized. But it had left her resentful and grief-stricken. She'd cleaned him up and changed him. Then she'd sipped the nice wine she'd bought for the occasion and taken down the tree, tearing up with each bauble she'd put away while her father stared at the television in his wheelchair. </p>
<p>After dropping off a card at Ms. McPhee's, she hurried around the corner to Arthur's building. He was waiting for her at his door, dressed in the red sweater he knew she loved on him. She pecked his sharp cheekbone as he bent to take her luggage, and watched as he made a show of putting it beside the sofa. "Did you pack your whole apartment?"</p>
<p>"Almost," she said, already digging out the food she'd brought and placing it on the kitchen counter. The ham and pineapple casserole had to be popped in the oven for forty-five minutes. The two pieces of pie were from the diner near her office. Lastly, there were a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of whiskey.</p>
<p>He didn't say a lot, but she had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking: a variation on the refrain that she'd done too much. "Arthur, this is for me, too. Besides, you got the tree." Then she pulled him in for a kiss. Though his lips were soft and returned her affections, she could sense the apprehension in his shoulders, her palms sweeping across them. He was probably excited, she figured. And a little nervous, too. This was a milestone for them, after all. She smiled up at him encouragingly. "We're going to have a great time," she said. His nod was gentle.</p>
<p>Dinner went by quickly, which was a blessing because it was terrible. ("I swear, I followed my mother's recipe.") The apple pie was a good substitute for her favorite, blueberry. There wasn't any nutmeg to add to the eggnog. And Arthur covered the top of his mug when she wanted to spike it. He appeared to like it, anyway, and was soon pouring himself a second serving. GCR was playing Christmas music non-stop instead of news, so she turned on the radio. She led him to the living room and admired the tree he'd gotten.</p>
<p>The fir was maybe four inches taller than he was, probably six feet. There were plenty of branches, but it was slim enough to fit into the rear corner of the room, by the windows. The sharp, fresh scent of pine was wonderful. "You picked a great one." As she got into her luggage and dug out the white mini-lights, Arthur searched for an extension cord. Once the bulbs were in place, she knelt before the tree and handed him one of the tins of ornaments she'd packed. </p>
<p>Arthur tackled the upper half while she took care of the bottom. Her gaze turned up to him and she grew fuzzy all over. Concentration was plain in his squint, his handling of the glass-blown, red bulbs cautious. His fingertips carefully closed the hooks over each bough. How long had it been since he'd last done this? She reached out, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze before going through her own box of baubles. A soft sound stuck in her throat as she discovered what was inside. </p>
<p>"What is it?" he asked quietly.</p>
<p>The shellacked, round cookie was in surprisingly good shape, its ribbon firmly attached. "My sister made this for me when we were little. I'd forgotten about it." She cradled it in her palm, a peal of laughter bubbling up. "One year I got a toy oven. Set the smoke alarms off, scared my mother half to death." Sipping her drink, she shook her head. "Mabel - who's younger than me, remember - decided to show me how it was done. She was always better at that stuff."</p>
<p>The memory prompted Sarah to continue. She mentioned her parents taking them to a department store a few towns over to visit Santa. How she'd been completely boring and asked for a typewriter and doll, which she'd gotten. The milkshake she'd had at the restaurant on the top floor. She felt uncharacteristically wistful. "That was a lifetime ago."</p>
<p>Most of the tree was adorned when she noticed he'd stopped responding. It was as though he was frozen in place, his face turned towards the floor. Sarah stood, taking in the clenching of his fists at his sides, the quiver of his frame, the twitch of his cheek. "Arthur?" She reached out to take his hand.</p>
<p>His arm yanked back as if she'd hit him. Then he marched around the sofa, past the television, and went straight into the bathroom. The locks slid into place as soon as he closed the door.</p>
<p>She was stunned. And, if she was honest, disappointed. All she'd wanted was to share more of herself with him. Gingerly, she walked to the door. No light shone from beneath it. The picture of him sitting alone in the dark on Christmas Eve pained her. She knocked.</p>
<p>Laughter broke up the strain in his voice. "I need a few minutes." After a pause, a hushed plea. "Please don't go."</p>
<p>"I won't."</p>
<p>Her lips pursed. The last few times she'd visited, she'd made a note to check his usual spots for prescription bottles. There hadn't been any. And there'd been no indication he'd used any of the doctor appointments she'd paid for. They'd have to discuss it. But not now. New Years was next weekend. She'd mention it then, as well as her hopes they'd be living together soon, treating it as something positive.</p>
<p>Beyond his laughing, he hadn't yet gone into any level of detail about his afflictions, his diagnoses. Since his appearance on Murray Franklin, she'd read almost the entire "Loving Someone With" series to learn how to handle problems when they arose. It had advised kindness, calm, and providing regularity. Discussion of normal things, plans for the future. That was what she had been trying to do. Why had Arthur reacted so poorly?</p>
<p>Then it dawned on her: the experiences that were normal to her, to most people, hadn't ever been so for him. Her thoughts went to the terrible details in the Arkham file he'd brought over. The unspecified categories of abuse he'd suffered. His severe head injury and its permanent effects. The radiator...</p>
<p>She recalled his reaction to the journal she'd given him for his birthday. He'd tried, in vain, to hide how affected he'd been by it. And it was only a few weeks ago he'd meekly asked if she'd ever stop loving him, as if it was a chore for her instead of bliss. It was tough, knowing how hard he had to work to accept her kindnesses.</p>
<p>Rubbing her eyes, she concluded she'd been an idiot. Well-intentioned, but an idiot regardless. She'd so looked forward to making new memories with Arthur, to being able to spend the holiday with someone who could enjoy it, she'd overwhelmed him. Set him off. </p>
<p>He needed space and, so far, she'd always paid the respect of giving that to him. It wouldn't be easy tonight, however. Every fiber of her wanted to rush in there, hold him, and tell him to confide in her. To allow her to support him. But she needed to listen to her brain instead of her heart (which Arthur made hard to do, being the one who'd helped her unlock it). She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes would be a good compromise. She could give him that.</p>
<p>The music had become deafening. After turning it down, she made her way to the kitchen and put away the rest of the food. Every scrub of the dishcloth on the beige plates they'd used, every wipe as she dried the cutlery, expressed her concern. Ornaments still littered the living room floor. A few more were hung before she put their boxes in her suitcase. She worried her lip when she came across the presents she'd gotten him, wrapped in luscious greens and golds. He'd like them, she was certain. If he was up to receiving them. She placed them under the tree, adjusting the tags so he could clearly read "Arthur," written in her looping cursive.</p>
<p>The clink of the bathroom door being unlocked was barely audible. Not wanting him to think she'd been hovering the entire time, she waited before approaching. Then she stepped forward and slowly opened it.</p>
<p>The light from the hall spilled into the room, sufficient to see Arthur sitting on the pink, tiled end of the bathtub. She took in the slump of his shoulders, his arms slack and folded in his lap. He spoke and his miserable rasp split her heart. "I'm- I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything."</p>
<p>"You're not." She turned on the floor lamp in the corner, then sat down on the closed toilet. "It wasn't fair of me to babble on and on like that. I didn't think abou-"</p>
<p>"Don't." It was clear the harshness of his tone was directed at himself. His dark brows creased in the middle as he wiped his nose, embarrassment clear in every gesture. "I just... I wanna be able to enjoy this like everyone else."</p>
<p>The skin of his hands was pink, likely from wringing. And his nails had been freshly chewed. Her chest tightened. "May I touch you?" she asked. At his curt nod, she smoothed his sleeve up to stroke his forearm. The grimace he wore was tight enough to show his dimples.</p>
<p>She'd learned it was vital to speak to his virtues in these moments. That was an easy thing to do - he had many. The compliments she paid him were true, and reflected what he valued in others. "You're so caring, Arthur." Her fingertips drifted down his laugh line to his thin lips. "And good. And funny." She blinked away the tears that threatened, the news articles from his mother's file fresh in her mind. "And strong. Stronger than anyone should have to be."</p>
<p>A dry, hitched sob left him and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me lies."</p>
<p>"I'm not. I never will." Her kiss brushed the shallow wrinkles on his trembling chin, and she took his hand between her own. "You don't have to talk about it. But I'm here if you want to." A long silence followed, interrupted only by their soft breathing. Eventually, he trailed lines down her thigh, to her knee, caressing her as if she were gossamer. </p>
<p>She considered how he could have gone through such brutality, yet be the gentlest person she'd ever known.</p>
<p>Releasing a long sigh, he leaned his forehead to hers. "I can't," he whispered, lifting one shoulder.</p>
<p>"It's all right." Her grasp slid up and down his sides comfortingly. "I love you. It's okay."</p>
<p>It was awhile before he stood, pulling her with him and against his chest. She nestled into him and soaked up his heat, carding her fingers through his loose curls. "I- I picked out a movie. I think it starts soon." He held her hand as he walked towards the living room.</p>
<p>The analog TV sounded with bells and strings as Sarah got a blanket from the bed. She scurried to him and saw the names Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire flash on the screen. Of course, she thought. He'd picked a romantic musical. After turning off the lamp, she situated herself next to Arthur and draped the cover over them. The opening credits were rolling, but she could feel him watching her instead of the film. Then his touch grazed her bare ankle. She shifted towards him, a smile spreading across her face at the softness of his features. "What?"</p>
<p>His gaze dropped. "I wish I knew how to say how much I love you. Show you somehow." </p>
<p>The lights from the tree were giving his skin a warm glow, and reflected beautifully in his green eyes. She tipped his chin up and kissed him deeply, until they both had to pull away for air. Pink dusted his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, crooked tooth on display. "I know, Arthur." They snuggled closer under the cover and he entwined their hands. "I know."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Since she'd returned to him after Murray, they'd spent an increasing number of nights together. Arthur usually let Sarah sleep as long as she needed. Insisting she wake up with him wouldn't have been fair. She worked hard and the extra hour or two was helpful. But he couldn't hold back Christmas morning.</p>
<p>He made a valiant attempt to pass the time. Really. He'd already shaven, smoked a couple of cigarettes, retrieved her presents, and plugged in the tree. He noticed she'd placed gifts under it, labelled "Arthur" and elegantly wrapped in paper nicer than what he'd been able to pick-up at the drug store. He glided his fingers over them. The corner of his mouth lifted. Written in her script, his name was beautiful.</p>
<p>Thankfully, he was in better sorts than the night before. Enthusiasm for her gripped him. He tip-toed to the bedroom and watched her sleeping form from the doorway. It was still dark - the sun wouldn't be up for another hour - but he could picture what she looked like. Her wet breathing and slight snore meant her pillow had a spot of drool near her mouth. There was a fifty-fifty chance her nightgown had twisted up just beneath her breasts. The blanket may have slipped below her waist, leaving her hip exposed. He knelt next to the bed and palmed the side of her neck, planting kisses to her face until she groaned.</p>
<p>"Your hair tickles," she mumbled. Her arm went around his back and brought him closer. "What time is it?"</p>
<p>"Early." Before standing, he gave her one last peck on the mouth. "But I couldn't wait any longer." He padded to the kitchen to start the french toast they'd decided on.</p>
<p>He was in the middle of cracking eggs when she sat across from him on the other side of the breakfast bar. "It's nice to have someone to celebrate with again," she said, leaning up and forward to peek in his bowl. "I'm happy it's you." He cocked his head at that. She'd had a family before, a sister and brother-in-law. Nieces and nephews. A father. He asked her to elaborate but she shrugged it off. "Just a few rough years. That's all. Don't waste your time on it."</p>
<p>Learning about her was one of the things he liked about having a girlfriend. As sappy as it sounded, even to himself, it made him feel like she was a part of him, and he a part of her. Dr. Sally said open communication was important. If he was going to be a good boyfriend, Sarah should be able to talk to him without fearing he couldn't handle it. He grasped her hand and borrowed her phrase from last night. "You can talk to me." Their gazes met as he ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm okay today."</p>
<p>A wry grin appeared. "Let's just say we've both experienced difficult family situations." She took his fork and finished beating the eggs for him as he turned on the stove. "This is a big step in putting that awfulness behind me."</p>
<p>The way she seemed to understand him, even if she was talking about herself, prompted him to clear his throat. "Me, too." He dipped the bread in the bowl, then placed it in the frying pan.</p>
<p>When they were finished eating (it'd been so much better than the casserole she'd made, and he'd never had real maple syrup before), Sarah poured them both more coffee and made her way to the living room. Arthur offered to turn on the news, aware she was still waiting for coverage on the Wayne Foundation case, but she waved dismissively. "I don't want to think about that today. God knows I already think about it too much."</p>
<p>They took turns opening gifts, sitting on the floor by the tree, close enough for him to feel the heat she was emanating. Sarah immediately opened her chocolate Santa and broke off a piece for him. The musk oil perfume he'd picked up for her at Helm's Pharmacy had been on sale for $1.79, and he was grateful he'd remembered to remove the price tag before wrapping it. She dabbed it on her wrist. It was different on her than it was in the bottle, a bit stronger than expected. But she was wearing something he'd given her, so it was lovely nonetheless. Her favorite of the three presents seemed to be the old, tapered, white vase he'd found. She needed it, he explained. That time he'd given her a rose, she'd stuck it in a drinking glass.</p>
<p>What he'd given her were simple trinkets, born out of a vague idea of what women were supposed to like. Despite her apparent delight and the kisses she'd bestowed on him after opening each one, they felt inadequate compared to what she gave him. There was a teal sweater, one she claimed would bring out (in her words) his "beautiful eyes." He pulled it on over his thermal shirt, tags and all. She'd gotten him a book on comedy writing. He wasn't sure how to take that - had she decided his jokes weren't very good? But then she told him she expected more material for his next stand-up show.</p>
<p>Picking up the last gift, he studied it with mock seriousness. Its shape and weight gave away it was a record, but he had no idea which one. They often enjoyed quiet evenings with his collection of older standards, but she preferred more modern songs. Maybe it was an attempt to introduce him to what she liked. He'd gladly listen to it, at least once. He peeled the pretty paper back and exhaled sharply. The LP was old, the cover worn. It was the soundtrack to Modern Times, a film he'd caught once or twice and loved the music of. Holding it to his chest, he murmured a quiet, "Thank you." Eagerly, he got up and put it on, letting the orchestra and his love for her wash over him, soothe his battered soul.</p>
<p>Sarah followed and splayed a hand on the small of his back. "Gotham Pops played this at the Wayne benefit last month." Giggling, she tousled his hair. "I spent the evening wishing you were next to me. It would have been nice to show you off, all dressed up and handsome." He stiffened for a second, wondering if he should tell her he had been there. If he should practice the honesty he'd been working on since Murray. Perhaps knowing he'd accompanied her, in his own way, would please her. But she interrupted his thoughts before he could speak. "The Christmas parade starts in an hour. We should go now if you still want to see it. Neither of us are very tall - we need a good spot." Her lips brushed his ear. "I brought an extra hat and mittens for you."</p>
<p>He spun to face her as he nodded, and she nuzzled at his nose and sighed. The wide smile she wore halted his breath. It would have been nice if this hadn't been his only real Christmas. If his first thirty-five years hadn't been a cruel joke, a tragedy. But he was glad to have this taste of happiness with her. </p>
<p>He hadn't longed for a paralegal from another part of the country, a woman who couldn't dance well and never guessed the punchlines of his jokes. But what he was about to say was true all the same. He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're the one I always wanted," he whispered against her. "Merry Christmas, Sarah." The words felt unnatural - he was unsure when he had last said them.</p>
<p>The love in her look let him know he'd done all right. "You're the man I never knew I needed. And I do, Arthur." He closed his eyes at her embrace, laying his cheek against her temple as she cuddled into him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Fleck." Her next sentence and the touch of her mouth to his jaw made him shiver. "Maybe next year we won't have to choose whose apartment will have the tree."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Home Early (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah has to attend a conference for work. Arthur misses her.</p>
<p>A great request from @sweet-nothings04! This was so much fun to write! Thank you! And a gracious thanks to @ithinkimawriter for beta-ing. Love you, ma’am!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A mid-May business trip to Philadelphia was not what Sarah had planned. Phil, her new boss at Dube &amp; Ellis, had decided it was great timing. She'd joined the law firm in April, just when a case involving Daggett Industries, a local chemical and pharmaceutical company, was moving forward. Her investigative skills could help, he told her, but she had to beef up her knowledge of labor statutes. Attending the annual employment and safety regulation conference would be a good opportunity.</p>
<p>The quality of her work being recognized so soon after her hiring pleased her - she'd always taken pride in it. And the idea of Arthur, a man who had never gotten a toe out of Gotham, traveling to a new city with her was charming. They'd be able to visit a historical site or two, explore the streets together, eventually settle at a comedy club so he could make notes. (Pogo's was a comforting familiarity, but there wasn't a lot of variety in the comedians.)</p>
<p>As soon as she asked if she could bring him with her, however, the notion was rejected. Phil merely pursed his lips, concluding with a slight shake of the head. When Sarah said she would, of course, pay for Arthur's half of the trip, he elaborated. "You're not married. It wouldn't look right." She gaped at him. "I know," he continued. "This is the eighties, we've come a long way, bra-burning and all that." Her eyebrow went higher with every syllable. "There are going to be a lot of other professionals there. You don't want a reputation."</p>
<p>It was such an archaic way of thinking. She managed to bite her tongue before spouting what was running through her head: that her sex life was none of their business. That her personal life had nothing to do with her competency. That she knew he meant the firm's reputation when he said "hers..."</p>
<p>She was still new. Her colleagues were learning how to take her brashness (not withstanding their appreciation of it during her interview), and she was in the process of becoming acquainted with them. She'd found a way to express herself, though, telling the man who was old enough to be her father, "You're showing your age, Phil." She thanked him for the chance to expand her expertise, accepted the registration form for the conference, and went to her desk.</p>
<p>Arthur was dour when he learned she had to leave, his annoyance clear in how his neck tightened, the tap of his fork on the table. Normally, his infrequent, mild petulance didn't bother her. A hug, a lame joke, and a kind word or two tended to bring him out of it. But the frustration at what her boss had said, the disrespect she'd felt, sat in her stomach. She kept her tone measured. "I'm not thrilled at the short notice, either. We'll have to go to the pier the next week." At his lack of verbal response, she put her hand on his and stopped its movements. "This isn't the last time this kind of thing is going to happen. Having your support is important to me."</p>
<p>Wincing, he let go of the utensil. "You do. I just..." His jaw clenched as he closed his eyes. "It's nice to have you. It's gotten easier for me to live here."</p>
<p>"I do enjoy seeing you strut around in your pajama bottoms again."</p>
<p>He gave a warm look, snickered softly, and grasped her palm. "I'll be okay."</p>
<p>On the eve of the trip, Arthur held her closer than usual. The embrace, albeit lovely, was making her too hot to sleep. And she had to get up extra early to catch the commuter train. Turning towards him, she ran her fingertips along his forearm trying to lift his spirits. There was reassurance in his deliberate cadence when he started speaking - for her and for himself. "I don't want you worrying about me. I'll keep myself busy."</p>
<p>She reached to tuck an unruly curl behind his ear. "I'll call you every night. You can tell me a joke. Like when we started dating."</p>
<p>His voice was soft, teasing when he answered. "Should I take a shower afterwards, too?"</p>
<p>Giggling, she pulled herself an inch or two from him and tucked herself in. His chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, the nuzzling of her hair, carried her to sleep.</p>
<p>Now she was in her room at the hotel adjoined to the conference center. It wasn't bad. The twenty-four inch TV had cable. The bathroom was clean. The mattress was somewhat lumpy but adequate. Ready for bed, she rested against the headboard. Her mind was reeling from everything presented today. Statistics showing workplace injuries were on the rise where funding to regulators had been cut. An overview of changes to federal labor statutes over the past few years. The workshop on employment law basics she'd chosen to attend. While it had all been interesting, she needed to unwind.</p>
<p>She was sipping the nightcap she'd ordered at the hotel bar as her pondering went to Arthur. She had incorrectly assumed being engrossed in her work would distract her from missing him too much. But his absence caused an unexpected pang in her chest. Mornings, without the sound of his shaver when she passed by the bathroom, his arm slung around her as she poured the coffee he'd made, or his smoky breath when they'd share their first kiss of the day, were the hardest. She rolled her eyes at herself. It felt silly, being a forty year old woman and lovesick after a mere three days.</p>
<p>Arthur sounded like he was doing all right whenever they talked. She hoped he wasn't putting on a brave face for her, pasting on a smile as he was still wont to do. Each conversation went similarly. They asked about each other's day. She would prattle on about the material they'd covered while he would patiently listen. He'd tell her what he had for dinner, how any gigs had gone, try out a couple new jokes on her. Then he would get quiet. It was the same tonight. Finally, he sighed. "I wish it was Saturday already. It's hard to sleep alone again." The "again" tugged at her. "The bed's empty without you."</p>
<p>The poignancy tinging his words made her frown. "<em>I'm</em> empty without you," she said, trying to lighten the mood. His awkward, sweet chuckle was a balm. "I'll be home, getting on your nerves, before you know it."</p>
<p>Once they'd hung up, she flipped through the channels in an effort to relax. But the shopping networks were numerous, the talk shows contrived and ridiculous, and the sit-com reruns from the fifties. And the ache that had formed in her heart during her call with Arthur was getting heavier as the minutes passed, the more she wished he was laying by her side. Turning off the TV and finishing the rest of her drink, she forced herself to doze.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Due to scheduling conflicts, the last day and a half of the conference was solely for lawyers, not paralegals. All it took was a short call to Phil to get permission to head back to Gotham early. That meant she'd be home Thursday night instead of Saturday. She'd have to work Friday, but she'd be back with Arthur a whole thirty-six hours sooner than planned.</p>
<p>The train arrived only a few minutes late at the hub between Bowery and the financial district. She'd been able to catch the 7:45 PM subway to Burnley after a short sprint. The temperatures had been unseasonably high lately. In spite of the stifling heat and humidity in the car, with its broken air conditioning, the anticipation coursing through her made her smile. She hoped he would like the souvenir she got him, and patted her pencil skirt pocket to ensure it was safe.</p>
<p>The apartment was quiet when she opened the front door. All the lights were off, except for the one over the stove. Maybe Arthur had gotten to sleep already, which would be good, considering the trouble he'd said he'd been having. After sliding the locks into place and putting the keys on the counter, she slipped off her shoes. Silently, she went to the bedroom in her nylon-stockings. As she got closer, about a foot away, she heard Arthur's voice. It was too faint to make out any words. He was likely dreaming or talking to himself, as he often did when working on his material. The door was ajar, about an inch -  the warm glow of the bedside lamp shone through it. Not wanting to disturb him, she slowly opened the door halfway.</p>
<p>The sight in front of her froze her instantly.</p>
<p>Clad only in his briefs, Arthur was supine on her side of the mattress, his right forearm folded behind his head, which was tilted into the pillow beneath it. His forehead was furrowed, lips agape to allow ragged breaths to escape, punctuated by occasional, soft moans in his throat. Sarah's gaze roved lower, to his bare, heaving chest, then she followed the flexing muscles of his other arm. The fingers of his left hand were wrapped around his rigid shaft. Both legs were splayed, his right knee up and leaning to the side, while his left leg lay flat.</p>
<p>No one, not even her ex-husband, had ever done this in front of her. While she'd been curious, she'd never had the desire to actually watch someone pleasure themselves. His vulnerability struck her as she remembered Arthur hadn't intended to be seen doing this. Part of her thought she should step away, shut the door, and wait for him to finish. But it was getting harder to convince herself to walk away. Did he regularly do this before their nightly phone call? Would he be unsettled if he knew she was there?</p>
<p>Did he know how beautiful he was? Gulping, she studied the way he palmed himself, his grip stroking up and down as his hips slowly rocked into his fist. She hadn't expected to find this alluring. Her own breathing was getting heavier the longer she observed him, and she could feel her nipples tighten against the lace of her bra. Her fingers traveled to her breast, whispering over a stiff peak, fondling herself through the royal blue satin as she worried her bottom lip. She was growing desperate to join in. Then he grunted her name, and her breath hitched in response.</p>
<p>The flicks of his wrist increased as his forefinger and thumb moved to tease the swollen head. Compelled to step forward, she tip-toed in, opening the top three snaps of her blouse. Heat flared in her core as the pitch of his whimpers rose. She squeezed her legs together in an effort to sate it.</p>
<p>They were only three feet apart when she whined and gave herself away.</p>
<p>Arthur started and regarded her with confusion, which rapidly changed to shock. "Oh my god." The hue of his blush deepened from pink to beet red, as he scrambled to tuck himself into his briefs.</p>
<p>"It's all right. I-"</p>
<p>"Wh-What are you doing home?" he asked, grasping the corner of the gray sheet to cover his groin.</p>
<p>As he started to rise, Sarah rushed forward and sat beside him on the bed. "My schedule changed." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, stray strands stuck in the sheen of his sweat. "I wanted to surprise you." The continued blush on his cheeks, his refusal to meet her eyes told her he was distressed. She kissed his hairline, brushing along his sideburn. "I shouldn't have barged in like that."</p>
<p>He shook his head slightly, long eyelashes resting on his cheekbones. She understood his reticence. That act was normally done alone. Though he hadn't talked about it much, she'd figured out privacy could be a sore spot for him. It made sense, given his history of living with Penny, how tiny their apartment had been. And if he'd come upon her in the same position, she would have been flustered, too. Sarah traced a laugh line. "Arthur, I didn't mean to-"</p>
<p>"It's fine." After a couple deep breaths, he blinked up at her. "How was your trip?"</p>
<p>She reclined next to him, snuggling his side and placing a hand on his chest. "It went well. But it would have been nicer if you'd been there." That coaxed a bashful smile out of him, which heartened her. "I learned a lot."</p>
<p>He leaned into her as she kissed his jaw. "Like what?"</p>
<p>"Well," she started, trying to think of a fun example. Arthur often asked her about her work, and she tried to use illustrations that would make sense to any layman. "If I hired a sexy comedian to do his set at a party-" Snorting, he rolled onto his side to face her. "It would be illegal to try to get out of paying him by sleeping with him." The pad of her thumb skimmed the lines at the corner of his eye. "I'd have to compensate him as agreed. Then I could romance him."</p>
<p>He ran his palm over her shoulder. "Good thing you never hired me." Then she felt the sear of his fingertips trailing her neck. "I think you would’ve broken the law."</p>
<p>"Definitely," she said, tracing the curve of his brow. He kissed her quickly, then met her gaze, his own filled with desire and a little uncertainty. Arthur had gained confidence since moving in three months ago, and uncertainty was the last thing she wanted for him to feel. In their home, their room, and in their bed. It gave her pause. It might be best to simply address what had occurred. That had been her approach with him so far, and it hadn't failed her yet. "You don't have to be embarrassed." Grimacing, he ducked his chin. She caught it and bumped her nose to his. "Seeing you do that was...quite exciting."</p>
<p>His look was one of disbelief. "Really?" At the quick nod of her head, he huffed.</p>
<p>Gradually, allowing him plenty of time to stop her, she dragged her touch lower, playing across the lean muscles of his belly, along the waistband of his underwear. "What were you thinking about?"</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes, holding her waist. "Sarah..."</p>
<p>She giggled, letting him guide her to straddle him. "Ah, so you <em>were</em> thinking about me."</p>
<p>Instead of speaking, he kissed her, his mouth groping messily at hers. The heat was enough to make her think she might melt into him. "I missed you," he murmured, arching up into her.</p>
<p>She met him and moaned softly, the grind of his hard-on making her core ache. "Four days without you was too long," she breathed. Her eyelids fluttered shut as his fiddled with her half-open top.</p>
<p>He held her hip, continuing the heady friction between them. "I want-." Even as need radiated from him, his pleas were spoken modestly. "I- I wanna make..."</p>
<p><em>Love</em>, Sarah completed mentally. That was the phrase he, the romantic in their relationship, typically used. (She was usually blunter, sometimes vulgar, though it was lovemaking no matter what word was said.) It would be so easy to relinquish control, especially when she wanted to feel the stretch of him inside her so badly.</p>
<p>But not yet. Her blouse was peeled off her as she sat up, and she reached back to unhook her bra. He started to bunch her skirt around her hips until she wiggled out of his grasp. Sliding further down bed, her parted lips covered his sternum, leaving damp imprints in their wake. Her touch followed his v-lines, then dipped beneath the waistline of his briefs, pulling them off his narrow hips as she brushed her mouth along the dusting of hair starting at his navel.</p>
<p>Once his underwear was off, she grasped his erection. He jolted. "Wait, I won't last."</p>
<p>She planted a quick kiss right above his brown curls, earning a shiver from him. Barring the days he yearned to simply confirm the reality of their connection, he made sure she enjoyed herself in bed. He was good at reading her responses, and she never hesitated to say exactly what she needed. Now she had other ideas. "I took care of myself this morning. There's no way I could have paid attention, otherwise," she said, her voice taking on a slight rasp. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." A muffled laugh hitched in his throat, and he put his palm to his face, grinning at her.</p>
<p>She started to work him, her pumping motions steady yet gentle. He glanced at her hand on him, then let his head fall back into the pillow as his hips rose into her touch. Her brows knit together at the display before her, his handsomeness, his lithe frame, the delicious weight of his girth. She looked at his cock then and groaned. The prominent vein, the deep red of the glistening head, almost tinted purple with need... Her mouth watered, needing more of him. All of him.</p>
<p>Taking him between her lips, she closed her eyes as she savored the first taste of his arousal: salty with a bitter edge. A strangled sound left him, and he reached to loosely hold the back of her head. Licking across the slit, she bobbed slightly, enveloping him further. She brought her other hand between his thighs and cupped him, caressing the soft skin there. Then the tip of her tongue found the notch on the underside of the head and flicked against it.</p>
<p>His leg went around her, foot resting on her lower back as he whined, "Oh, fuck." That prompted her to smile around him. It wasn't often he cursed, usually when he was nervous or upset, not in casual conversation. When he did in the bedroom, she knew he was on the brink of losing control. She changed the angle of her head slightly, laving at him between fervent sucks, seeking to bring him off. The thigh against her arm tightened as the rolls of his pelvis sped up. Her own arousal bloomed as he got closer and closer to completion.</p>
<p>When he suddenly warned he was about to come, a craving captured her. One that astounded even as it thrilled her. She hadn't wanted to be marked by someone before, possessed by a person. The notion would have normally offended her sensibilities. But somehow her trust level with Arthur brought out that primal desire. The way he never talked down to or demeaned her, how he always treated her as his partner, allowed her to explore that side of herself. To realize she could enjoy it in this context.</p>
<p>At the first pulses in his length, her mouth left him. Keeping him in her grasp, she leaned forward until his cock brushed her chest. With a final, strained cry, he stiffened and thrust up towards her. She closed her eyes as he spilled onto her, gasping as she relished in the thin, warm lines of his essence hitting her breasts and catching on her nipple. A dull throbbing had begun in her center, and she rubbed herself languidly on the mattress as he grasped her shoulder.</p>
<p>He was still catching his breath when he opened his eyes and looked at her, at the marks he'd made across her torso. The tension in his face let her know he was unsure what to make of it. This wasn't something they had talked about. She kissed the crease of his thigh, and said the words that always soothed him. "I love you, Arthur."</p>
<p>The liquid on her chest was already cooling, and she crawled over him to grab a tissue from the box on the bedside stand. But he propped himself on his forearm and took it from her. He wiped at her tenderly, eyes softening as he went. "What was that?"</p>
<p>"Did you mind it?" At the instant shake of his head, she shrugged and bent closer to him, the sweetness in his care warming her heart. "I had an urge."</p>
<p>"Hm." While his dimples were slow to appear, the smirk he wore was sure. He crumpled the tissue and placed it by the base of the lamp, then pulled her on top of him. "You have some weird urges."</p>
<p>Chuckling, she pressed her forehead to his. "And they all involve you." His lips seized hers and he took her hand, squeezing it as he folded his fingers together. Their breaths mingled when they eventually parted. She rolled onto the bed and reached into her skirt pocket, hoping her gift hadn't broken in the heat of the moment. "Here, I got you something." She pulled out a black pen with the phrase "Philadelphia - The City of Love" printed on it in gold letters (she wouldn't tell him it meant brotherly love), with a heart at the end. "For your journal."</p>
<p>He took it slowly, then read the script on it, silently moving his lips. Beaming at her as if she'd given him the world instead of a cheap souvenir, he kissed her temple clumsily and got up. After pulling on his underwear and lounge pants, he left the bedroom. Sarah decided to finish undressing, threw on a tank top and pajama bottoms, and headed to the kitchen.</p>
<p>While she poured a glass of wine for them to share, he sat at his desk, scribbling quickly. She wondered what he was writing and asked a rare question: "May I take a peek?"</p>
<p>He could refuse her, of course, with no lingering resentment between them. But this time he didn't, waving her over. Him divulging the private thoughts he put in his journal was an infrequent treat, one she cherished. Holding the pages tightly, she assumed so they wouldn't flip to something he didn't want her to see, he showed her the simple note he'd written. "Sarah's back all ready and surprized me with this pen and more. She needs to learn to knock. Guess I better write some new jokes." She gazed at him, enjoying the contentment visible in his features.</p>
<p>After a peck to his cheek, he snaked an arm around her waist. She raked her hand through his hair and he smiled up at her. "It isn't late," she said. "I'll put a record on so we can catch up."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bittersweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a little prompting, Arthur tells Sarah about his first kiss.</p>
<p>This was an anonymous request! Whoever you are, thank you for sending it to me. Writing this was a joy. A hearty thanks to Karen for beta-ing!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Arthur felt the first periods of genuine satisfaction within his own skin, he discovered which activities he enjoyed the most. Performing for children, seeing their small faces beam in reaction to his magic tricks. When he was doing a comedy set somewhere and his laughter didn't occur. Working on material or listening to music. And every second with Sarah at his side.</p>
<p>Weaving himself completely with another person hadn't been something he'd believed possible. But during the past eleven months, his assumptions had changed. Sarah knew about the difficulty he often had interpreting people, about his illnesses, about each time he'd been remanded to Arkham. Instead of recoiling as he'd feared, she reminded him to take his medication on the rare occasion he would forget. The calendar that hung by the kitchen entrance had both his appointments or gigs and her court dates written in his scrawl. She delved into his interests by watching old comedies he rented or shows he picked out. He'd explored hers by paying extra attention to Action News and asking about the cases she was working on. And they'd gotten in the habit of watching Gotham Tonight before heading to bed. It was the repetitive mundanities of normal life, the routines and rhythms they'd fallen into, that he found most intimate.</p>
<p>Yet, she still had the ability to flummox him.</p>
<p>They were walking in Sheldon Park after dropping off their groceries and his three prescription refills at the apartment. It was a lovely evening, the temperatures balmy even though dusk was approaching. The place was more crowded than expected for a Tuesday. A group of kids were riding their bikes through the winding paths. On a nearby bench, an older man smoked a cigar while the woman he was with chattered about the day. And there were quite a few teenage couples, strolling with arms entwined or their lips locked.</p>
<p>Sarah must have noticed them, too, because she nudged him when they passed a pair making out on a knoll near the duck pond. "If we'd met back then, would we have been doing the same thing? All over each other without caring who saw?"</p>
<p>A light laugh caught in his throat. He gave her side-eye, taking a drag off his cigarette. "You already don't care who hears."</p>
<p>She was chuckling when she asked her follow-up, like it was the most normal question in the world. "When was your first kiss?" He halted, mouth agape as she continued on. The answer made him feel self-conscious before even giving it. It had been embarrassingly late, considering what he remembered hearing around school as a teenager.</p>
<p>Sarah put a quarter in the duck pellet machine and turned the crank. "I was fifteen. My ex-husband. We were at a drive-in, watching some terrible movie - Attack of the Grasshoppers or Ants or whatever." Arthur stepped towards her and put out his smoke in the nearby ashtray as she held out her hand. "I knew he liked me, but I was surprised." After splitting the feed with him, carefully pouring it into his upturned palm, she sat on the grass, legs crossed in front of her at the ankles, and tossed some in the water. "He leaned over and kissed me as hard as he could. I pushed him away, then pulled him back again."</p>
<p>The birds swam hurriedly in their direction, a couple of the braver ones daring to come ashore. Arthur crouched down next to her and threw some of the pellets himself. But he stayed quiet. A few minutes later, she leaned towards him. "You don't have to tell me. I know I'm your first serious relationship." Shrugging, she continued. "I just thought there might have been a high school sweetheart. Then we could share embarrassing tales."</p>
<p>He shook his head, throwing the rest of the food and sitting next to her, one knee up with his arm rested on it. "No," he said. "You're my only sweetheart." Normally she wasn't fond of pet names, but she let out a soft sound and scooted closer. Her arm looped through his, a kiss planted on his temple. As his lips pressed together, he wondered what she expected. She'd been surprised by his inexperience when they'd started sleeping together, seemingly unable to comprehend how he'd been single. If she'd been anyone else, he would have assumed she just wanted to make fun of him. But she'd been open about her history, and hadn't laughed at him once so far. "I was twenty-two."</p>
<p>"What were you like back then? Just as beautiful, I'm sure."</p>
<p>A short giggle escaped him, his forehead rested on the heel of his hand. While he'd never been outgoing, never been half as bold as Sarah, he hadn't yet shrunken in on himself. Though he'd had his condition, his mental illnesses had only partially presented themselves. He hadn't already been committed. Life had had its challenges, having taken care of his mother seven years by then. But he'd still been naive enough to hope it could be different. That Penny might get better. That he could meet his special person.</p>
<p>That was too much for this conversation. She'd asked a lighthearted question and deserved a lighthearted answer. So he gave one that encompassed it all. "Younger." It had been awhile since he'd reflected on the circumstances surrounding his first kiss. His brows drew together as he tried to remember all the details. "Her name was Helen. We were coworkers in Gotham Park. At a summer carnival."</p>
<p>The bit of exaggeration was unintentional. He'd been hired to work as a clown. It had been new for him, but given his natural aptitude for dancing and interacting with kids, it'd come easier than expected. The boss had told him to roam the entire grounds. And he'd tried to. But it had become impossible after seeing her.</p>
<p>Arthur's eyelids fluttered at Sarah tracing the veins on the back of his hand. "What did she do to win your heart?"</p>
<p>Not a lot. They hadn't exchanged more than a couple of words, mostly pleasantries and the odd complaint about the weather. But she could have done anything, frankly. He'd been fantasizing about dating for years. What had originally been an innocent desire for attention and friendship had, as he'd grown-up, become a near constant craving for love and connection.</p>
<p>Helen had worked at one of the games, though he couldn't recall exactly which one. The radiance of her skin was nearly as bright as the smile she met customers with. She always wore cute, short sleeved sweater sets, ones that revealed a sliver of her mid-riff. She was kind. Whenever she talked with anyone, she'd laugh easily and be attentive. She seemed smart, too; he'd noticed the textbooks she took notes in. The moment he'd passed by her and she'd glanced up at him with her deep, brown eyes, he'd thought he'd sensed an affinity between them. It had sparked his imagination. "She was nice. And pretty. We didn't get to talk much."</p>
<p>"How was it?" Sarah asked playfully, her caresses flirty as they traveled to the inside of his wrist, a spot they'd learned made his breath catch.</p>
<p>The carnival had normally stayed open until nine. But high winds and heavy rain had forced it to close early. He'd been sprinting by Helen's booth, when she called out to him. The front closure was stuck, she'd explained. Could he help her with it? After a minute or two of trying to fix it, she'd invited him into the back. It had taken a couple seconds to decide to go for it - he'd hoped his hesitancy hadn't been too weird. Once the rope was untangled from the hook it'd been stuck on, he'd rolled down the tarp and secured it shut. Then he'd turned to her.</p>
<p>They'd been drenched. Probably half his clown-makeup had been washed off, leaving his pale skin exposed. Her sweater had clung to her, the silhouette of her hardened nipples visible through the cream fabric. He'd fought to keep his eyes averted. The pitter-patter of the pelting rain had surrounded them, slightly muffled by the tall trees above and the orange canvas of the tent. It had felt pleasantly hazy. She'd looked up at him and said, in the sweetest voice, "Thank you. I owe you one."</p>
<p>"Yeah," he'd replied lamely, when what he'd meant to say was, "I think I love you. You're beautiful. Let's go on a date." His heart had been pounding, open, plain to see, and he'd thought he'd understood her smile correctly. It was rare they were directed his way - surely it must have meant something. When she'd offered her hand for a shake, adrenaline had driven him to take it, step forward, and press his mouth to hers.</p>
<p>After all this time, only vague impressions remained. Her lips had been pliant, warm, and wet. How he'd imagined a ripe plum would feel if he could ever afford one. There'd been enthusiasm on his part. And he was sure he'd been trembling. He hadn't paid attention to her reactions, having been too caught up in his own nervousness and excitement. Finally, he'd been brave enough to kiss a girl. He'd been proud of himself for not laughing.</p>
<p>He'd attempted to snake an arm around her waist, pull her flush against his skinny frame to feel the realness of her, the softness of her breasts, the dip of her waist. But she'd backed off, pushing against his chest as their lips parted. He'd released her instantly but kept her hand. He'd tried to hold it loosely enough to hide his desperation as he felt his heart break.</p>
<p>She'd cleared her throat before starting in. "You're sweet, Arthur. But... This is going to be my senior year. I have to concentrate on school." White noise had filled his ears. "I think you're a little old for me. And I'm seeing someone. And..."</p>
<p>Halfway through her litany of explanations, he'd tuned out and slowly dropped her fingers. His palm automatically went to his abdomen, willing his diaphragm to not betray him. "I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" He'd squeezed his eyes shut as he broke off, self-disgust filling him. "Why would you like me? I-"</p>
<p>The reassurances she'd given him hadn't mattered much back then. They'd actually made it worse. They'd meant that in lieu of hating him, she simply didn't want him. "I'm not mad." There'd been pity in her half-smile. "It was a nice kiss."</p>
<p>His anguish as he'd gotten ready for work the next morning was overwhelming and unwanted. But his brain wouldn't stop going to Helen. Seeing her again would crush him. The tightness in his chest, the tension in his arms were acute - he didn't know what to do. And anger was welling in him, at himself and what he'd never have. He'd attempted to find distraction in the radio, tobacco, the nearly scalding hot water during his shower. None of it worked. Instead, as he stood in the corner of the living room by his clothes, he banged his head, smashing it into the mirror hanging on the wall.</p>
<p>It was the cracking of the glass that got him to stop, got him to notice what he was doing. The compulsion he'd felt and given into to hurt himself was new. Frightening. And cemented his abnormality. He'd lifted his fingers to his forehead - there'd been no blood, at least. Then he'd squinted at the mirror and groaned, annoyed he'd have to replace it. Quickly, he took it down and threw it in the trash can, not wanting his mother to see what he'd done.</p>
<p>He didn't return to work that day. Or the day after that. He'd stayed at home, calling out sick and missing a week's pay.</p>
<p>Penny had noticed his lack of absence first. Then his failure to do anything besides smoke and get off the couch to use the bathroom. She'd asked if he was okay for the first time in months. And he'd confessed, rasping softly, "No, mom. I need someone." The humiliation he felt at yearning for such simplicities grew as he went through his list. "I want to take her to the movies. To light her cigarette. To hold her." He'd exhaled sharply and flinched. "I want her to laugh at my jokes."</p>
<p>"Oh, Happy," she'd said, patting his arm. In his fragile state, the nickname's familiarity had both calmed and hurt. "Just smile and put on a happy face. You can't feel bad, then." She'd turned back to the television, maternal instincts quickly forgotten. At least around her, he listened and tried to paste a grin on.</p>
<p>Eventually, he had dragged himself back to the carnival - the bills had to be paid somehow. He'd done his best to avoid Helen. She had spotted him once, though, and given a small, friendly wave from across the way. After briefly freezing, he'd chosen to nod back at her, giving her the acknowledgment he would have wanted had their positions been reversed.</p>
<p>He hadn't seen her again. But he'd clung to the memory of that kiss for ages. Reminisced when he'd ached for another life and wanted to believe it might be possible. And for less chaste longings. It had stopped being a placeholder years ago, when he'd realized he'd always live with Penny. Not alone, but lonely, until he was lucky enough to check out forever.</p>
<p>Until he and Sarah had stumbled into each other. Repeatedly. In this harsh city.</p>
<p>"Kissing you is nicer," Arthur said, slinging an arm around Sarah, meeting her gaze.</p>
<p>She giggled. "Oh?" Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, only inches from his own. "And why's that?"</p>
<p>"You love me. And you want me." The touch of his fingertips went to her upper arm, guiding her to recline on the grass. "All the time," he scolded mockingly, rasp barely above a whisper. His lips tickled her, just under her ear, and he delighted in the way she squirmed and batted at his shoulder.</p>
<p>She locked her hands at the nape of his neck and smiled up at him, like he was the only man in the world. Eagerness sparked as her fingers slid under his sweater. "I do," she replied, low and throaty. "I won't pretend I don't." Cradling the back of her head, he bent and sealed their mouths together. She was demanding, as though she sought to capture a piece of him and hold it deep within her. He sighed as he brought his hand to the hem of her blouse, not hesitating before going in for another kiss.</p>
<p>Neither of them heard the hooves of the approaching horse. "Sir? Ma'am?" Arthur turned up towards the mounted police officer shining her flashlight in their faces. "Aren't you two a little old for this?"</p>
<p>Wide-eyed, Arthur's head snapped back to look at Sarah, nearly colliding with her as she held her hand in front of her eyes. Thank god she answered straightaway. "Sorry, officer." She sat up, pushing Arthur off her. The blush currently spreading across her cheeks made him snort. "It's such a beautiful night and, well..." she gestured in his direction. Christ, would she never find it inappropriate to brag about him? He turned away and hid behind his palm.</p>
<p>Sarah stood and brushed off her clothing. "We'll behave, madam. I promise." The cop shook her head and rode off. Sarah covered her mouth as she burst into laughter. "I guess this means we wouldn't have cared who saw." Arthur stood up beside her, pulling up his pants and fixing his hair. "Thanks for sharing that with me," she said.</p>
<p>As she reached to remove a leaf from his jacket, he stepped to her and cupped her face, melding their lips once more. "I'll share anything with you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Find (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur and Sarah tidy up their wardrobe. What he comes across surprises him.</p>
<p>This request comes from Karen - it’s the first one I ever got! Thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing and helping me improve this piece by sharing her thoughts.</p>
<p>If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment or feel free to message me. You can send me your requests over on my Tumblr, <a href="https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com/">C.M. Scott</a>, or here. Just drop me a line and I'll do my best. I hope to hear from you!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Instead of allowing a lazy Sunday, Sarah decided they needed to do a project together. She had too many clothes, she claimed. And Arthur could use some new ones. Though he disagreed with her assertion, never having owned much, he went along with it. Such suggestions were part of having a girlfriend, he'd learned. Sorting through the bedroom closet would be a couply activity, anyway.</p>
<p>It turned out to be nice, better than when he'd kept house alone. Her smile was infectious as they rearranged everything, and it grew each time they inadvertently bumped into each other. He succeeded in talking her out of donating a sheer blouse, insisting it looked good on her. She replaced the dry cleaner bags on his Carnival costume with zippered nylon ones. Then she retrieved a wooden box from the top shelf, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her.</p>
<p>Floral patterns were carved in its top and sides, and the center held a purple and yellow pansy, pressed under smooth glass. It was quite old, the corners worn, the front closure tarnished. The hinges released a quiet squeak as she lifted the lid. "These are my most important keepsakes," she said. Her degree was in there, the Christmas ornament her sister had made, and her divorce papers. The rose he'd brought when he'd come for dinner was now dried and delicate. And she'd held onto the cork from their first bottle of wine. The letter he'd written her after Murray was sealed in a clasp envelope to protect it.</p>
<p>Arthur's chest swelled. The small container resting on her lap was something she'd had long before they'd met, perhaps since she was a kid. It was astonishing he took up so much space in it. Maybe she'd like to keep one of the payment slips for the ring he was planning to give her. (They were currently tucked safely in his journal.) He wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her to his side.</p>
<p>The bleating of the phone interrupted them, right when he was planting a kiss to her shoulder. "Wait for me," Sarah said. "I'll tell them to call back later." He watched as she left the room, admiring the slight swivel of her hips. After a minute, "Mabel, what's going on?" drifted in from the kitchen. Ah, her sister. That would take a while. Sighing, he stood and continued alone, hopping on the step stool and humming as he went.</p>
<p>The shelf was dusty. The old law books were likely from when she went to college. He flipped through a photo album and set it aside to go through with her later. In the back corner, there was a red, paper gift bag, its top neatly folded closed. When he retrieved it, the weight surprised him, and he studied it with a curious expression. She probably wouldn't be perturbed if he opened it - she'd shown him her mementos, after all. Gingerly, he took a peek.</p>
<p>A carton was in there, a foot long. Pictures of women in athletic gear were on the side. They were holding a white object to their elbow, their calf, their lower back. He read the sentences on the packaging carefully. "Helps relax muscles." "Relieves tension." "Soothing vibrations."</p>
<p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Arthur crumpled the top of the bag quickly as he giggled, his cheeks on fire.</p>
<p>On her radio show, Dr. Sally had said the massaging wand was revolutionary. That it helped educate women about their own bodies, learn what they liked. Sarah hadn't mentioned owning one. It would have troubled him a few months ago. His insecurities would have told him it meant he wasn't very good. That he wasn't enough for her and never would be. But because of his ongoing treatment and comfort with her, those concerns were minor today. And he was intrigued.</p>
<p>The women he'd pasted into his journal were often touching themselves, ecstasy clear on their faces. Even though he still found those pictures arousing, he wasn't stupid and knew they were staged. Experience had stripped away the illusion. But the thought of Sarah pleasuring herself made him shiver and lean against the closet's door frame. His mind filled with images of her sprawled on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. The scenarios he'd pictured since they'd met were numerous. His mouth at the apex of her thighs while she tried to type papers for work. Her going down on him in the dressing room at Pogo's. Or his favorite, the one he'd gone back to most, joining with her completely as she fell apart, because of him and only him. If he asked, would she be willing to-</p>
<p>Upon hearing Sarah hang up, Arthur haphazardly tossed the bag back in its spot. He busied himself with the sweaters and shirts in the "keep" pile, folding and hanging them as needed. She started telling him about the call as soon as she came in. Caught between his natural bashfulness and the urge to blurt out what he found, listening was difficult.</p>
<p>She must have sensed something was off, because she stepped next to him and said, "You look warm."</p>
<p>He ducked away as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm okay." That was only half true. It was going to take awhile for him to figure out how to express what he wanted. But he shot her a grin. "It's just a little hot in here, that's all."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Sarah's seamed stockings finally sent him over the edge three days later. He'd noticed them when she put on her heels at the door, and ogled her as she strode down the hallway after their longer-than-usual kiss goodbye. It was possible she simply wished to be pretty (which she always was, no matter what she had on), to be professional, to make herself feel good. Still. She knew those nylons turned him on, and he chose to believe she wore them for him.</p>
<p>He made a quick call to her at lunch and said he was looking forward to tonight. There was strain lurking beneath her kind tone when she asked, "Why? What's tonight?" Nothing, he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He just missed her. She sighed, told him her day had gone sideways, that she needed to go. But she couldn't wait to see him later and loved him.</p>
<p>Both to relieve his own nerves and to cheer her, he resolved to make everything perfect for her to come home to. That's why, rather than cooking together, he was stirring minestrone and adding pasta. Why he'd already set the table and put the bunch of pink carnations (her favorite) from the grocery store in the middle. Why the wine was open and ready to serve. The kitchen radio had been switched to the sixties and seventies music she preferred. He swayed along to it, even as he hoped one or two slower songs would play so they could dance.</p>
<p>He'd been trying to find the right way to broach the subject all afternoon. Stuttering through his request wasn't his preference. It'd be fun to be playful - if he could gather his courage. God, it would be absurd if he couldn't. Shouldn’t courage come naturally if he hoped to spend the rest of his life with this woman? "Sarah, I was wondering if you could-" Cocking his head, he tried anew. "I love you, Sarah, and I wanted to know if-" Rolling his eyes, he retrieved bowls from the cupboard. "It's your fault I can't think straight." He took a breath, stretched his arms, and tried to focus. Nothing felt right. He'd have to improvise.</p>
<p>The unlocking of the door and the thudding of her bag to the floor alerted him to her presence. He laughed lightly as he tested the soup, enjoying the thrill of anticipation. She approached in his peripheral vision. "Arthur, you didn't have to do all this," she murmured.</p>
<p>The gladness in her words made it worth the effort. He poured a glass of wine for them both. "You were having a busy day."</p>
<p>She took a sip and braced herself on the counter. "I had to run back and forth from the office to the courthouse. We were missing copies of motions for tomorrow's hearing. My typewriter's ribbon ran out and we didn't have any replacements." A puff escaped her before she turned to him. "But every thing’s lovely now. Come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.</p>
<p>Arthur tried to pay attention while they ate; he disliked missing a moment of her. But she was already driving him to distraction. The way her lips pursed as she blew on the food before taking a bite. Her caresses to the petals of the flowers. How she kept touching his sleeve. When she untied the bow at the collar of her burgundy blouse, opened the neck to reveal the start of her clavicle, his stomach flipped. "I wanted to- to ask you a question," he said softly.</p>
<p>"I knew something was going on." She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "You haven't said much besides 'yeah' and 'mhm.'"</p>
<p>Damn. He'd tried to be normal. "Sorry." A sheepish smile crossed his face and he smoothed back his hair. "I'm a little nervous."</p>
<p>"You don't have to be." There was excitement in her voice, barely contained, and she scooted her chair closer. "I'm sure I'll say yes."</p>
<p>He quirked a brow at her. "Um, okay." A sharp exhale as he sat straighter. "I've been thinking about this a lot." His gaze darted to hers, seeing it sparkling and filled with affection, before falling to his lap. He fiddled with his spoon as he forced himself to speak. "I found something. When we were cleaning."</p>
<p>A pause. "What did you find?"</p>
<p>The wine was sharp on his tongue when he sipped it. "The massaging wand?"</p>
<p>The blush on her cheeks traveled to the rest of her face and she hid behind her palm. "Oh my god," she laughed.</p>
<p>Having the advantage wasn't usual for him in these situations. It was refreshing. Luckily, she didn't seem upset, so he continued. "Dr. Sally recommended it on her show. You're beautiful. We both might like it. I mean, I know I would, but... Would you show me?" Her quiet nagged at him, so he changed his approach. "You turn on the light every time we make love," he teased. "Don't you remember when you came home and surprised me?"</p>
<p>She peeked at him, the corner of her lip lifted. "It's never even occurred to me. I can't believe it occurred to you." After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "I won't lie - it's...an arousing idea. And all this," she gestured at the table as she spoke, "has made me pretty hot and bothered." Her hand went to his inner thigh, fiddling with the seam. "Though I have to admit, I was expecting you to ask something else."</p>
<p>His eyelids fluttered at her caress. "What?"</p>
<p>Grasping the tie at the front of his pants, she finished her drink. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll ask me later."</p>
<p>~~~~</p>
<p>This was happening. It wasn't his imagination. Sarah was taking a fantasy of his, one that belonged in dirty magazines, and turning it into a demonstration of her love for him. Was it weird to be moved by something this lewd? He should be ashamed to have asked her. But he wasn't. And when he felt her smile as they lay in bed, his throat tightened. Their breaths were harsh as the pearlescent buttons of her blouse opened halfway under his ministrations. A soft moan left her when he cupped her breast, tweaked its taut tip through her bra, and she yanked at his shirt until he pulled it off.</p>
<p>She ground against his clothed hard-on and hastily unzipped her black skirt to slip it down. He swallowed thickly, following her movements, huffing at the sight of her dark red garter belt and matching panties. It wasn't often she donned those, preferring more practical undergarments. Had she, by some means, known what he was thinking when she'd gotten dressed that morning? The notion was silly but warmed him anyway. Relieved, he groaned and reclaimed her lips.</p>
<p>The dance of her fingers across the lean muscles of his chest caused him to suck in air, which he held while she skimmed past his ribs to his stomach. "I haven't done this in front of anyone before," she said, a little uncertain.</p>
<p>Arthur chuckled, letting her take his hand and guide it between her thighs. "I hadn't, either." He pushed the cotton to the side and fondled her slit, reveling in how she bucked into his touch. It was almost enough to get him to forget the show, to forget about his plan, to sheathe himself inside her without a moment's pause.</p>
<p>But she grabbed the vibrator off the stand and switched it on. Its buzzing was louder than he'd presumed, like a hornet's nest. Amusement must have shown on his face, because Sarah smirked and turned the wand to a lower setting. "Remind me to plug the clock back in when we're done," she said, shedding her underwear and kicking it off her foot. He settled next to her hips, boosting himself on his elbow to see her. Shyly at first, then growing bolder, she swiped and pulled at her outer lips. They drew back as they swelled and she giggled, running the pads of her fingers over herself. "You're the only one who could persuade me to do this."</p>
<p>He grazed her inner thigh, the straps holding her stockings in place, and pressed a kiss to her leg, observing as she lay the massager's rounded end to her core. Even as her pelvis arched slightly to meet it, she kept it in one spot - he'd thought she would have moved it around. The heat flaring in his groin was, thankfully, lowering his inhibitions, and he found he could ask, without anxiety, "Did you do it a lot?"</p>
<p>"I did this more after we met." He laughed happily, realizing he'd been the cause of her increased desire. A whimper fell from her as she moved towards the vibrator again, her frame trembling. Her brows pinched with every increasing undulation of her hips. "It's been awhile. I'd forgotten-," she gasped, "-how intense this feels."</p>
<p>When she began writhing, he watched the sway of her breasts, straining against her bra. Her stomach was quivering with every shallow breath, and he felt his own ardor heighten with hers. He leaned forward to get a better look at her folds. But, upon finding the toy covered her completely, he furrowed his brow. And it registered that he didn't need a prop involved; he just needed her.</p>
<p>Gently, he caught it, waiting until she met his gaze to turn it off and put it on the bed. "You're enough," he said quietly. "If that's okay." She nodded lightly. One of her legs spread to the side, the other bent at the knee. He shuddered as she held herself open, fingers drifting over her sensitive nub. "Are you - Are you thinking about me?" <em>Say yes. Please.</em></p>
<p>Her explorations went lower, tracing the edges of her entrance, open and waiting for him, then dipping below to gather slick on her fingertips. "Yes," she hissed, tapping her bud repeatedly. She jerked towards her hand as she bit her lip. It was enchanting, watching her play herself like a well-tuned instrument. She seemed to know exactly how to touch her own body. What pressure to apply. How fast to go...</p>
<p>Her breast spilled out when she pulled down the cup of her bra, her head falling back into the pillow. Her thumb teased her areola and she keened. "You're all the way inside me." Another tug to her pebbled nipple, and the hand at her vulva hastened. "Your cock feels so good, Arthur. You fill me so well."</p>
<p>"Sarah, god." He hadn't expected pornography to spill from her mouth. Groaning, he pushed his briefs away and gripped his erection, running his thumb along the tip as he glanced from her face to her center.</p>
<p>The glistening of her arousal was spreading, a spot forming on the blanket beneath her. Her cries were becoming frequent, her body tensing. Her eyes opened and went to his length. "Get in me."</p>
<p>That took him aback. "What?"</p>
<p>"Get in me. Please." He scrambled out of his underwear and knelt between her legs, positioning himself so her thighs rested on his, and he held the soft skin of her upper leg. After a couple of quick pumps, he sank into her entirely, grunting at the sight of her reddened, desperate sex welcoming him. She stroked herself, first pulling at the clitoral hood, then circling it, more frenzied with every rut.</p>
<p>This was far superior to any photograph, any adult film he may have caught a glimpse of. Because it was personal. She was devoted to him, and he to her. And she was repeating his name, the syllables strung together and becoming unintelligible. Soon she wailed sharply and stiffened, her pulses gripping his cock. "Fuck me harder," she whined.</p>
<p>His movements stilled. While he wanted to give in, he feared harming her - he was stronger than his skinniness suggested. But she begged for him again, and he couldn't resist pressing her wrists into the bed on either side of the pillow. Their kisses turned hard while she brought her trembling legs about him and he plunged into her. A wanton cry escaped with each inch she moved up the mattress, with every pound of his hips. The sear of her surrounding him was intoxicating, and he took her nipple in his mouth, laving and sucking at it. Her body grew rigid and bent into him and she moaned, her muscles clamping around him a second time.</p>
<p>Their intimacy had traversed the scale from slow to fast, loving to urgent. But Arthur had only been unrelenting with her once. Her enjoyment hadn't been a consideration; she’d been a means to an end that night. And the guilt he'd felt afterward had prompted him to promise himself to not be rough without her explicit permission. Seeing her trust in him in action, feeling it in the embrace of her body, pushed him forward to give into what they both craved.</p>
<p>He threw his head back and fucked her, up on his knees, slipping his grasp from her wrist to entwine her fingers. He held her neck and the side of her face as he mashed their lips together, losing himself in her as he increased the punishing pace of his thrusts. His motions stammered, seeking his climax, going deeper and deeper still.</p>
<p>With one final shove he came, emptying into her with each throb as they clung to each other. His brain was foggy with pleasure, breath ragged and panting. Vaguely, he was aware of her tight hold on his ass, as if she coveted every drop of him. As he came down from his high, the last tendrils of pleasure fading, he squeezed her hand. The kiss he gave her was tender, soft. A stark contrast from how they'd joined moments ago.</p>
<p>Sarah was giving him that dazed grin, the one she usually had after lovemaking. But he felt the need to check. "Did I hurt you?" Averting his eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone.</p>
<p>She pecked his nose and raked her nails through his hair, her look full of adoration. "You could never hurt me." A giggle bubbled up. "I do need a minute to recover, though." He stayed inside her while he softened, nestling in the crook of her neck. "I'm proud of you," she said.</p>
<p>His eyelids shut and a toothy grin appeared as his heart clenched. "Why?"</p>
<p>"You weren't afraid to ask me. Well, even if you were, you did it, anyway." Her arms wrapped about his torso and she palmed his back. "And you trusted yourself to let go."</p>
<p>He dragged his thumb along the faint stretch marks at her areola. While what she said was accurate, he usually liked it softer. During the periods in which his anger or despondency nearly consumed him, when he thought he might erupt, he was afraid he would lose the ability to be gentle. So far, her love and support had helped bring that tenderness back, even if it took a couple of days. He ached for that to continue. "You know, when I- when I see things that aren't there... I always say the right thing. I'm funny. I know how to do good." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "But with you it's real."</p>
<p>Guiding him out and off her, she turned on her side. "Because that's who you are, Mr. Fleck. Don’t forget that. I won’t." She nuzzled his nose. "How else could you have broken through my shield enough to have this ridiculous pillow talk?" He chuckled as she tugged on a curl. "I lost that part of myself for a long time," she sighed. "I'd hate to lose it again."</p>
<p>"I won't let that happen." He pulled her closer, caressing the edge of her garter belt. "Especially if you keep wearing these," he said lowly.</p>
<p>Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts flush to him. "Let's be ridiculous until we're old and gray."</p>
<p>"Mhm." Tears prickled but he blinked them away, managing a wide smile. It was one of her hints that she wanted to be with him forever. He prayed she would accept his proposal next week. "Only if you promise to laugh at my jokes."</p>
<p>Sarah traced his jawline and kissed his dark brows, her gaze shining as she gave her response. "Arthur, I'll laugh with you for the rest of my life."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Things Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur shares a childhood memory with Sarah. She sees it differently than he does.</p>
<p>This was an anonymous request! Thank you for sending it to me - it was a real challenge. A big thanks to Karen, too. Not just for beta-ing, but for helping with the basis of the memory in question. (I had an idea but hers was much better.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sarah was clad in her robe and brushing her teeth when Arthur entered the bathroom, flashed her a half-smile, and sat on the side of the tub. A mix of nicotine and cologne hung in the air. He must have smoked half a pack if he was trying to cover up the scent. The flexing of his bare toes on the dark tile floor, and the nibbling of his thumbnail caught her eye in the mirror. Once she rinsed, she grabbed a piece of floss and sat next to him, situating herself so they were hip to hip.</p>
<p>They were fast approaching five years together. Arthur and she still found respite in each other's presence. In shared warmth, not only in the familiarity of their affection, but also in the meeting of lips and bodies during lovemaking and otherwise. And in their companionable silences, which continued to hold a tacit acknowledgment that he could tell her whatever he needed, whether he uttered a simple word or two, or the rare paragraph.</p>
<p>Arthur appeared to be somewhere in the middle of that range of need now. It was evident in the tightness of his back as she put her palm on it. Rubbing gently, fingertips tracing his spine, she sought to bring him out. Like she had back when he'd sat on her sofa with his journal, a stand-up fresh off his first performance. The morning she'd realized she'd fallen in love with him.</p>
<p>His sigh let her know her attention was working. "Dr. Ludlow wants to talk about when I was a kid," he murmured. "I won't know what to say. I barely remember anything."</p>
<p>The subject of his childhood was seldom discussed. Even after his mother had passed away last spring; he'd been silent when they'd picked-up her belongings at the home. (He'd thrown out everything besides the periodic letters and photos Sarah had sent, stating "I like reading I make you happy.") They had never gone over the details in the Arkham file. He'd told her he hadn't and wouldn't look at all of it. He'd seen the headlines, scanned the psychiatric interview, touched the adoption certificate. That had been enough.</p>
<p>While he'd guessed she'd looked at Penny's records, she hadn't disclosed that she'd eventually read all it contained. Had learned the details of his neglect and abuse. Had seen the photos of his emaciated, bruised body. Her throat constricted as they flashed in her mind's eye. It was a mercy he wasn't aware of everything that had occurred. Even if his unconscious knew.</p>
<p>Of course, if he asked her, she'd answer any questions he had. Tell him all of it. But she didn't want to burden him. Or for him to feel shame, an unwarranted reaction her experience reading family cases had taught her was common. The two of them would keep doing what they always had: deal with the residual effects of his past, the symptoms of his illnesses together, as best they could. And for what she couldn't help with, he had his doctor and his journal.</p>
<p>"You can say whatever you want." Sarah bunched up the floss and tossed it towards the trash can under the sink, groaning as it bounced off the rim and back at them. "You could bring back some classic parts of your act. The one about how you hated school," she said, nudging his side. "And how the other kids were too unsophisticated to see what a sweet, funny boy you were."</p>
<p>He retrieved the plastic thread and stood up, threw it away. At his scoff, she realized her attempt to lighten his load hadn't worked. "That was, what? Over thirty years ago?" Then he turned to her, his thumb stuck in the waistband of his pajamas. "We have our life now. Why should it matter?"</p>
<p>Reluctance to admit one's past affected the present was understandable. She'd denied it to herself when she'd first moved to Gotham. Burying herself in her work had been enjoyable. And it had had the convenient side effect of allowing her to avoid processing the ways caretaking had changed her. Starting a relationship with Arthur had forced her to stop and take a breath, to examine its impact. It had done her good. She was certain it would him, too.</p>
<p>"Arthur." He took her proffered hand without pause and stepped to her automatically. She pressed her mouth above his navel, laid her cheek against the warm skin of his belly. "I'll be right here for you." The caress to her hair was featherlight and her hold on him tightened. "You've put so much work into yourself. This is difficult but you can do it."</p>
<p>Bending to her, he kissed the top of her head. "Go to bed. I don't wanna keep you up."</p>
<p>"It's all right if you do. I happen to like your company." At last, she succeeded in getting a chuckle out of him and a playful swat to her thigh. But he withdrew and wished her good night. Heading into their bedroom, she heard the click of the lamp in the living room, the opening of the door to the fire escape. He'd be outside for some time, she assumed. Quickly, she got one of his sweaters and brought it out to him. Though he raised a brow at her, his eyes were full of fondness. She slung the wool shirt over his shoulder and pecked his jaw before taking her leave.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Occasionally, Arthur would call her office before leaving for an appointment. He'd never say he was thinking of skipping a session. That he was having doubts they were working at all. That tough days were infrequent yet harsh. His flat tone and pauses clued her in, though. He'd been calm when he called today, and she'd kidded with him until his mood had buoyed and he'd said he was going. Promising a date night, if he felt up to it, had helped.</p>
<p>Currently, Sarah was in line at Marchetti's waiting for take-out. Wanting to catch-up on the evening news, she grabbed a Gotham Journal from the newsstand. Since the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne in a robbery six months ago, Gotham's malfeasance appeared to have gotten worse. Reports of small businesses being cited for minor code violations, while establishments run by people with the right name and enough money were left to their own devices, flourished. Construction strikes had become more frequent, which she would normally support. But they had a way of ending as soon as the city placed a higher bid. The chief of police had been photographed hobnobbing with a crime boss, but the mayor had taken no action.</p>
<p>On top of it all, the Wayne Foundation, that thorn in her side, was drawing back many of the initiatives it had begun after increasingly austere program cuts. Including services at that damned medical center in Otisburg. They couldn't run out of funds, the board claimed. With the continuously sluggish economy, returns on their investments weren't what they used to be. The organization needed to ensure the Wayne's son would be taken care of.</p>
<p>Sarah didn't buy those excuses. She had nothing against the boy - she couldn't imagine losing her parents at such a young age. But how many mansions, gazebos, and toys did a child need? The skeptical part of her, the one that always suspected an angle, wondered if the increase in the city's corruption and the Wayne Foundations machinations were related...</p>
<p><em>Stop it, Sarah</em>. Quickly, she shoved the paper back in its spinning rack. If she thought about it too much, she'd find a way to stumble into an investigation she couldn't ignore. While she'd be ready for one and relish it, she didn't want to focus on that tonight.</p>
<p>Their order was ready in about twenty minutes. Arthur and she had gotten into the habit of getting two individual pizzas, borne of his limited willingness to experiment with toppings. Normally, he was happy to take her recommendations, but he insisted cheese was just as good as any other kind and liked to have it to fall back on. She'd gotten Hawaiian for herself. If he was in the mood to eat, she was sure they'd split them.</p>
<p>Happy notes from the Sinatra live album she'd gifted him for his most recent birthday hit her as she opened the apartment door.  It was a pleasant surprise. Arthur only listened to the LP when he was doing all right. (It had prompted him to tell her of his wish to go see him in concert together, and he didn't want to taint that with negative thoughts.)</p>
<p>Upon peeking around the corner from the kitchen, she spotted Arthur in his writing nook, scribbling hurriedly and tapping his feet to the beat. He was obviously engrossed, but she didn't think he'd mind if she interrupted. Soon she approached his desk, plates in hand. "Knock, knock."</p>
<p>A gentle snort as he put down his pen, "Who's there?"</p>
<p>"Delivery service." She propped her hip against the edge of his desk, and placed the food next to his journal, along with a paper towel. "You owe me a tip."</p>
<p>"I do, don't I?" He angled his head up and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Thanks. I've only had coffee since this morning. Just been working on my material." Swallowing, he flipped back a page in his notebook. "How did the little boy learn to get home?" His green eyes met hers, a hiccup of laughter in his throat. He allowed about three seconds before giving her the punchline. "Step by step by step by step."</p>
<p>Her features softened and her grin drifted away as she absorbed what he'd jotted. In the past, his act had contained references to his childhood. References which could have been based on recollections, figments, or both. This was an observation in joke form, as his jests tended to be. "That's clever." She reached to brush a chestnut wave from his forehead, deciding to ask what she'd been curious about since she got in. "I'm glad you're doing so well. I take it therapy went better than expected?"</p>
<p>Nodding, he gave her a tight-lipped smiled, dimples on display. "Mhm." She moved to sit more fully on his desk, straightening as she secured her paper towel to the neckline of her blouse. They munched quietly, glancing between their slices and each other. It was clear he wanted to tell her more. After he finished his first bites, he shifted in his chair. "I remembered something nice."</p>
<p>A weight rolled off her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth turned up. "That's wonderful."</p>
<p>"Yeah." His teeth worried his thin bottom lip, his gaze going to his plate. "I was at school late - maybe I got in trouble for laughing. Penny was supposed to get me. But I think she forgot, so I had to walk home... It was dark. I hadn't gone that far by myself."</p>
<p>With every word he spoke, Sarah's elation ebbed, replaced by sympathy. But she didn't stop him. "The next day was the same. My mother wasn't there." He still switched back and forth between her name and that title, though he used the latter less and less. "I buttoned my coat and tied my shoes on my own." The satisfaction reflected in his expression contrasted with the pain welling in her. "The steps were icy, but I didn't fall once."</p>
<p>A hitched chuckle left him. "Penny stared at me when she finally answered the door. She couldn't believe I remembered the way home. Then she picked me up." His eyelids fluttered. And the beam on his face was blinding. "She said I was a good boy and told me I was big enough to walk home from then on. She gave me a quarter for a movie." His voice became small, as small as the boy in the story. "I think she was proud of me."</p>
<p>Sarah kept her stare fixed to the floor. Her chewing had slowed, then halted completely. A question nagged at her, even as she assumed the answer would hurt. "How old were you?"</p>
<p>A slight shrug in the corner of her eye. "Six? Seven?"</p>
<p>It shouldn't have stunned her that what he'd introduced as "nice" was to the contrary. But she was gutted. The implications behind it tightened her chest. Was it the last time his mother had held him? Had he gone to the damned movie theater alone, too? Why the hell had the city given him back to Penny?</p>
<p>She'd spent a lot of effort helping him learn that it was okay to be angry and upset sometimes. That he didn't have to lie to her about how he felt. That he didn't have to hide if things were too much for him or he had a bad day. And here she was, doing her best to paste on a smile for him. The difference, she supposed, was that it was to protect him. Not to lie to herself.</p>
<p>She didn't want him to have an inkling regarding the tumult she'd experienced in the last five minutes. That this memory wasn't ideal. Telling him how to feel about it would be crossing the line from honesty into cruelty. There had to be a truth in this she could be happy about. And following some pondering, she found one. He had so few memories from his youth. She supposed he'd been fortunate to retrieve one he considered positive, even though it broke her heart.</p>
<p>She permitted herself to sniff once, blinked a few times at the carpet, and looked to him. "I'm glad you have that to hold onto." Thank god she'd managed to keep her voice from wavering. She distracted herself by squeezing his hand, then brought his knuckles to her lips. "You deserve it."</p>
<p>After a sharp exhale, Arthur moved his palm to hold her shoulder and drew her to him. "You know how you needed me to get into NCB studios? To do your job?"</p>
<p>Twisting to put her plate on the desk, she couldn't stop her giggle. It hadn't been her job - it had been the opposite, frankly. "Of course."</p>
<p>"You're like that for me when it's hard." It was a simple comparison, but she thought it was one of the most beautiful she'd ever heard. She pushed her lips to his, titling her head to deepen the connection and cup his cheeks.</p>
<p>He loosened himself from her grip and grabbed the paper towel she'd tucked into her shirt. Laughing, he tried to wipe away the grease she'd gotten on his face. Sarah plucked the napkin from him and weaved her fingers into his silky hair, imploring him not to care. She looked down at him, unable to stop a smile from forming.</p>
<p>Damn, she was a lucky woman. How did he manage to cheer her, even with the ache lingering in her breast? She'd have to be extra sweet to him in the upcoming days. Hug him tighter, longer, until he pushed her off and shook his head with a smirk before pulling her back in again. It would soothe her, allow her to deal with the mixed emotions she felt at his recollection. Ensure his joyful mood stuck around and make him happy.</p>
<p>She'd start tonight. "We can skip Gotham News and watch whatever you want." She tapped his chest. "You pick." </p>
<p>"I like watching the news with you." He grinned, then. "But I rented a movie. A comedy from the thirties. There's dancing."</p>
<p>Comedies were much more his cup of tea than hers. But she'd watch anything to sit next to him, to see joy in his eyes, to hold and be held by him. She nuzzled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure we'll love it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Pre-Show (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s a big night for Arthur. Sarah helps him prepare.</p>
<p>Instead of this being a request, this was a scenario I came up with while writing The Find. My brain wouldn’t let go of it. I hope you guys enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mild, local fame Arthur had gotten after being on Live! with Murray Franklin had been a boost to his ego. And, if Sarah was being honest, confounding to her. She'd assumed he'd continue to be an object of ridicule, the way he had been since that terrible video of his first stand-up had become public. (The humiliation and anger that had radiated from him as they'd stood together in Penny's hospital room, and his withdrawal from her afterward, remained fresh in Sarah's mind.) But she had never been so happy to be wrong.</p>
<p>Only a couple of assholes had approached them on the street. Of the small number of people who said hello, most were neutral, simply amused at having run into a person they'd seen on television. A few were kind. As the months rolled on, the resulting increase in clubs letting him sign-up for sets offered opportunities to hone his craft. She was glad for him, delighted to see how those moments bolstered his self-confidence, helped him let out the instinctual elegance that was too often concealed by reservation.</p>
<p>Though she did have slight concerns. Many of his jokes were sweet, especially ones he directed towards her. But most were therapeutic, about matters closest to his heart. They helped him understand the world around him, in his own way. There was a tendency to treat Arthur like a novelty act, whereas he took his comedy seriously. Would that happen when he performed at amateur hour at the Smile Factory tomorrow night?</p>
<p>She didn't bring the possibility up to him. They'd been a pair long enough for him to know what she was pondering. And she never wanted him to think she didn't believe in him. She did, always. Wholeheartedly. Even if she didn’t always get his humor. And she would sit that audience, give him applause, and laugh at every punchline. Provide the attention he craved and support he coveted. Her love for him and his quirky shtick made that a pleasure to do.</p>
<p>Arthur's deep voice, occasionally halting, other times confident, drifted through the ajar bedroom door. She grinned, standing next to the couch while she ironed creases into his maroon trousers. It was routine for him to rehearse his timing in front of the vanity mirror. Try out his facial expressions to make sure he didn't look "too strange."</p>
<p>The first time she'd seen him do it, he'd blushed and turned away from her, lines tight on his face. But the awkwardness had dwindled as she'd explained she had to prepare for her job, too. That even with all her years of experience, she had to practice testifying if she was going to a big hearing. The effort he put into perfecting his routine meant he cared, and she admired his discipline.</p>
<p>When she heard him enter the living room some minutes later, she glanced over her shoulder. "All ready to break a leg tomorrow?"</p>
<p>"Or an ankle." She giggled at his retort and turned to give him his freshly pressed shirt. The green of his eyes glinted, meeting hers. "I can do this. I know how to handle an iron."</p>
<p>She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. He'd gotten better at letting her take care of him, but she felt he did more than his fair share. "You know how to handle a lot of things." She wrapped her arms around his slender waist. "This is the first time you've headlined a show. Focus on your act. Besides." A peck to his chin. "We must be in the honeymoon phase, because I enjoy doing this for you. I loathed ironing my ex's ties."</p>
<p>His palm went to the small of her back, lips on the shell of her ear. "Don't honeymoons last a week?"</p>
<p>God, he smelled good. He hadn't smoked since getting out of the shower. She nuzzled the crook of his neck for more of his masculine, spicy scent. "It's been a year and a half..." Her fingers sneaked under the hem of his gray thermal shirt. The warmth of his skin went straight to her center. "And you still drive me crazy."</p>
<p>A muffled laugh as he stopped her caress of his belly. "Sorry, I can't cure you yet." Then he patted her bottom and headed towards his desk. "Something just came to me. If I figure it out, you'll hear it tomorrow."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The dressing room was quite small, maybe eight by eight feet. But Arthur didn't mind. It had everything he needed. Incandescent light from the corner floor lamp made the wall's brown paneling cozy instead of cheap. The metal table was sturdy, the mirror on it sufficient to make sure his hair was in place. If the worn, wooden chair had had arms, it would have been more comfortable. But he wasn't there to lounge, anyway. He was there to work.</p>
<p>Pogo's was still his favorite club to perform at. The people there knew him, were aware of his condition. Not having to constantly explain it was a relief. They seemed to like him better, too, now that he ordered more than tap water. True, he hadn't been able to get paying gigs (though he had been allowed to split the covers on a Tuesday or Thursday night now and then). If he kept refining his material, however, he was certain he'd get there.</p>
<p>Skepticism had been his first response to the call from the Smile Factory. Having not slept well for nearly a week, he'd suspected it was either his imaginings or an elaborate prank at his expense. He'd waved Sarah over and they'd listened to the phone together. Yes, she confirmed. They really had gotten his contact information from Pogo's. A manager had gone to open-mic night and recognized him from Murray Franklin. An amateur block was a couple weeks away, and they wanted him to open it. They liked his oddball factor. They'd even stick his name on the chalkboard sign on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>Arthur had accepted the invitation quickly. It had taken a few seconds for him to put the phone in its cradle. Then he laughed in excitement and held Sarah so tightly he nearly spun her around the kitchen. She'd been happy. But her need to protect him was clear in her posture. He'd tried to put a stop to that quickly. "I want this. People are noticing me. I can't wait for my big break forever."</p>
<p>"You're right," she'd said, nodding. He'd run the back of his fingers over her cheek, her pretty gaze glittering at him. "I can't wait to hear whatever you come up with."</p>
<p>Her words echoed as he read his notebook. Opening a show was new for him. He'd picked out what he thought were his best jokes. A mix of ones which had gotten rare guffaws from audiences, and ones Sarah said she loved. There were new quips, too. He'd done everything he could think of to prepare. But stage fright roamed as deep as his bones.</p>
<p>Nervousness happened prior to every performance. Arthur had habits to deal with it. He'd scribble in his journal, draw winding circles over and over, sometimes until his pen gave out. He'd worry its pages while re-reading his material. (His memorization had gotten better, but he still needed the book for support.) The breathing exercises, in through the nose, holding, then out through the mouth, relieved some of his laughter and his anxiety. Visualizing success was supposed to help. So, as he sat waiting, smoking and sipping seltzer, he attempted to see himself with his arms out and the crowd cheering.</p>
<p>The knock at the door gave him a slight startle, broke him out of his fantasy. He checked the wall clock. He was scheduled to go on in twenty minutes. The emcee likely wanted to check-in and ensure Arthur would be ready on time, let him know how packed the place was. Better to prevent any hitches. "Come in."</p>
<p>Not even his anxiousness could stop his toothy smile upon seeing Sarah enter the room. She didn't usually visit him backstage, not wanting to interrupt him. But he was happy she'd chosen to tonight. "Hey," he said, turning in his chair. "I tried to pick a good table for you." He appreciated her feminine silhouette, the contours of her breasts accentuated by her collared, lilac sweater. Curves shapely in the A-line, pleated skirt she wore, ending just below her knees. Her black kitten heels. She must have come straight from work.</p>
<p>After a pause she stepped forward. "Patricia's guarding our drinks." He averted his eyes, made a soft sound, and studied the back of her hand as he grasped it. She'd brought her friend to his sets once or twice. The first time he’d spotted them, he'd frozen for a split second. Would her faith in him, enough to invite someone along, always be staggering? It was one of the many kindnesses that confirmed how important he was to her, that filled him with gladness.</p>
<p>She kissed the spot between his brows. "I had to tell the emcee I was Mrs. Fleck before he'd say where their big star was."</p>
<p>Outside of his flights of fancy, he'd never truly thought of himself as a “big star.” Or a “big deal.” Or a big “stand-up.” But he’d hoped for all three, aspired to fulfill his purpose in life. To make people laugh, even on days he himself couldn't. And if Sarah said it, it must be true. At least tonight.</p>
<p>Yet, just when the corner of his lips quirked, his back tightened against unexpected pressure forming in his torso. This was an important night. Whoever walked past the club's sign could see Arthur Fleck would be performing. Sure, he was getting more at ease in the spotlight, cackling only sporadically instead of every time he got started. But he knew there was a chance he'd screw up. Maybe he'd never get to do another set. Maybe he wouldn't even be permitted to come in and make notes. Maybe they'd decide he wasn't funny.</p>
<p>He winced at the negative stream of thought. That wouldn't do any good, especially not now - he was about to make a debut. Scoffing, he took a drag off his cigarette, stamped it out in the ashtray on the metal table, and rested his cheek on the heel of his palm.</p>
<p>Sarah's gentle touch drifted to his shoulders and his eyelids shut. He let her guide him to rest against the back of the chair. "Let me unwind you," she purred. The tips of her nimble fingers kneaded him. The circular motions in the notches above his collarbones ached at first, but started to tingle as he felt his muscles loosen. "Did you figure out that new joke last night?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," he breathed. "I changed my opening." The press of her thumbs to either side of his spine released a knot he hadn't been aware of and he groaned. "'Hello. It's good to be here. Thank you for the invitation.'" His gaze caught hers in the mirror. Combined with her massage, her prettiness made it hard to recall what he'd written. "'When I was younger, I never wanted to go running. I was afraid I'd run out of money.'"</p>
<p>Shivers went through him at the glide of her hands on the nape of his neck. "That's a good start." She moved to stand in front of him and his legs fell open. "You're going to be great. But-" she bent to fasten their mouths together. "You still seem to have some jitters." Her palms smoothed down his chest and he twitched, huffing as she knelt before him. "I think I can help."</p>
<p>It took a moment for him to process what she was doing. He gulped, watching her crumple the bottom of his vest and untuck his shirt. As her fingertips went to his fly, he grabbed her wrist, stiffening and snorting awkwardly. "Sarah." He tried to straighten but was halted by damp kisses to his stomach. "They're going to come get me any minute. I-"</p>
<p>"This won't take long." Mischief twinkled in her eyes. "And I locked the door."</p>
<p>This was entirely inappropriate. He should be telling her to get off the floor. To stop groping at him. To save it for their bed, their sofa, wherever. They were in public; this was something private. Her volume would definitely give them away. But the slight pressure of her unzipping his pants and his growing erection made him squint and roll his pelvis forward. In seconds he was lifting his hips to help her lower his trousers and briefs to his calves.</p>
<p>Her look was eager as she gripped his hard-on, her pink tongue peeking out as she smiled at him. The first lick along his length, the first sweep over the dark red tip of his shaft drove him to clutch his seat. The warm, wet contact caused his breath to shudder. Her lips enclosed him wickedly, and he had to stifle a moan at the sight of her working him. Of her taking him in almost entirely. At the determined expression she had while she sought to bring him off.</p>
<p>Mouth falling open, he tilted his head back, the pace of his thrusts increasing. She was alternating between enthusiastic laving and ardent sucks on the head. It was a struggle to control himself, and he bucked up, digging his fingers into her scalp. She whined around him, gripped his thigh, ran her nails through the hair on it the way she knew sent electricity through him. The tightening of his abdomen increased with her every stroke. He was so close...</p>
<p>Then a pounding at the door. "Ten minute warning!"</p>
<p>"Shit," Arthur gasped. He grasped her arm to pull her up. She started to fall into him but caught herself on his shoulders and straddled his lap. Absorbed with the urgency to be inside her, he hurriedly lifted her skirt to pull her panties away. What he discovered caused him to blink at her in surprise instead. "Where's your underwear?"</p>
<p>With a grin, she steadied herself and reached to press him to her slick folds. "In my bra," she breathed, sinking onto him. When her hips were flush with his, his groan matched her whimper. "I knew they'd just be a nuisance." She raked her hands through his locks and kissed him, hard. "I've been horny all day." She ground herself on his public bone and inhaled sharply.</p>
<p>The embrace he returned was fierce, fingers splayed on her back. She adjusted the angle of her body, allowed him to enter her more deeply, until he was completely embedded. The hot, tight slide of her walls went straight to his brain. His eyes darted from where they were joined to her face.</p>
<p>Her brows were drawn together, cheeks pink, lips parted as her undulations quickened. The beauty she held when she lost herself like this could rival that on the cover of any check-out magazine. Grunting, he braced his feet on the floor for leverage and bucked up into her. As he brushed his thumb against her swollen clit, she let out a short wail. He squeezed her thigh, chuckling. "Shh..."</p>
<p>"Sorry," she whispered. She smiled, the cadence of her ruts quickening. "You just-" Another short moan. "You feel amazing."</p>
<p>He nuzzled at her temple. "Sarah..." Her mouth opened against his and his tongue plunged into it. There was a hint of the cocktail she must have ordered before visiting, as well as his own musk. Normally, he didn't find the latter pleasant. But he found her so seductive, riding him like she was, he couldn't bring himself to care.</p>
<p>The rising pitch of her whimpers betrayed how close she was to going over the edge. Faster and faster, he skimmed her sensitive nub, her limbs rigged and trembling. As her pulses began to clutch his cock, he angled their kiss to swallow her strangled cry. She clung to him, holding herself upright, fisting his waistcoat and shuddering.</p>
<p>Somehow, she kept moving.</p>
<p>He was trying to catch his breath, to concentrate on keeping quiet, knowing there were people just outside the door. But the delicious friction was overwhelming, the clench of her threatening to undo him immediately. She was egging him on, her voice husky in his ear and pleading, "Come on, Arthur." He pressed his lips to her neck to conceal his cries, pleasure scorching through him as he surged into her one last time. Her thrusts ceased only when he cupped the swell of her ass, locking her in place as he poured himself inside her.</p>
<p>Their coupling had left him a little muddleheaded, but he knew he didn't a lot of time to recover. His gaze raised to find her glowing, and he felt himself fall in love with her again. Her kiss was swift as she disentangled herself and shakily stood. There were tissues on the table - she wiped herself off with one and handed him another. With a giggle, she took a third and dabbed at the sheen of sweat on his brow.</p>
<p>Her examination of her skirt prompted him to go over his trousers. He was relieved nothing had gotten on them. Once she'd straightened his collar, combed his loose curls back behind his ears, she got out her simple pair of cotton panties and slipped them on. "I'll see you after the show," she whispered, pecking him sweetly.</p>
<p>He watched her retreating form in the mirror until she shut the door firmly behind her. Standing to tuck his shirt in, he laughed softly. They'd really ruined her ironing job. But, he considered as he smoothed the bottom of his vest, it had been worth it. Being with her was always worth it. With a happy sigh, he grabbed his journal, steeled himself with a couple deep breaths, and repeated his opening to himself one last time before leaving the room.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Sarah patted her face with the damp paper towel in the restroom. Her cheeks were unbearably warm, her hair a mess. Carefully, she sniffed at her sweater. Good. It smelled like perfume, not sex. How did Arthur, who had been remarkably timid when they'd first met, become the one person who could inspire her to be so brazen? Whatever the answer, she loved it. Once she freshened up, was satisfied no one would be able to tell what had transpired, she headed back to her seat.</p>
<p>The club was nice, a bit more modern than Pogo's. While the lighting was low, the color scheme was a mix of black, grey, and silver. Arthur's maroon suit would be a pop of color against the painted brick wall at the back of the stage. The place was smaller overall, the space for the audience about two-thirds of what Arthur was used to. It was fairly crowded, though, and the groups that were there seemed to be having a nice time.</p>
<p>Patricia's eyes held suspicion when Sarah finally sat down at the black table for two at the back. "Where the hell have you been?"</p>
<p>"I was just wishing Arthur good luck." Sarah sipped at her Tequila Sunrise nonchalantly. It was the drink she always ordered at his shows. Her legs crossed under the table and she swung her foot back and forth.</p>
<p>"You were gone almost twenty minutes." Patricia nudged her arm. "How much luck did he need?"</p>
<p>"An abundance." Her friend's smirk was impossible to miss, even as Sarah focused on her cocktail glass. Patricia was onto her. Of course. "Sorry. I didn't mean to ditch you," she said. "I'll cover your tab." Patricia’s response was to grab the drink menu.</p>
<p>When the lights dimmed, Sarah straightened with anticipation. Arthur came out, notebook in hand, and gave a little wave. Standing in front of the mic, he surveyed the crowd, as always, and nodded at Sarah when he spotted her. She admired his wrinkled outfit, his mostly slicked back hair, the lingering blush on his sharp cheekbones. Everyone else in this room probably assumed his color was due to nerves. But she knew what it was a remnant of. Savoring the secret held between them, she pressed her legs together and smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Another Year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur’s birthday is coming up. Sarah wants nothing more than to make it great.</p>
<p>This request came from the one-of-a-kind, fabulous @sweet-nothings04! Thank you for asking for this. I enjoyed writing it a lot!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sarah hadn't realized how much she'd missed putting together birthday celebrations. Not until the unexpected serendipity of falling in love again. Her ex-husband had preferred not to make a big deal of them, had stated he hated getting older. (Considering he'd been in his twenties, she'd found that assertion silly.) As her father had slipped away, special events and gifts had gone by the wayside to focus on routines that wouldn't throw him off kilter. She'd been invited to her sister's and brother-in-law's parties but had only stayed for the hour or two she'd hired a sitter. And while she wasn't the most attentive aunt, she always ensured her nephews and nieces at least got a card and money for a treat.</p>
<p>From what she'd gathered, birthdays had never been an important facet of Arthur's life. That had become obvious upon learning his was 11/21/1946 by reading documents instead of from him. When she'd discovered he'd turned thirty-five and hadn't even told her. But unlike her ex, it wasn't because he didn't want them to be. It was due to neglect, isolation, and the inability to connect. As much sympathy as she had for Penny, for her own illnesses and suffering, for what had been done to her, the wounds she'd inflicted on her son hurt Sarah’s heart. There were so many lost years. She was determined to make-up for them by spoiling him.</p>
<p>The diner where Patricia and she often met for lunch was halfway between their two offices. A five- or six-minute walk for them both. Sarah arrived first. She sat at the white and gold Formica counter and perused the menu. (Though she'd already decided to get her usual pastrami on wheat, garlic pickle, and coleslaw.) Patricia strolled in as the waitress jotted down Sarah's order, and told the young lady she'd have whatever Sarah was having.</p>
<p>They caught up quickly. The Wayne Foundation case was going to have a preliminary hearing in three weeks. Sarah couldn't have rolled her eyes harder. ("Thank god I won't be there. They'd have to drag me off the stand.") Patricia listened with interest while Sarah went on about a dispute involving break violations at Ace Chemicals. And Patricia invited her to stop by the office soon, claiming Matt had realized he'd been stupid to let her quit. ("I'm sure he misses me being a pain in his ass.")</p>
<p>Sarah was picking at the crust of her sandwich when she changed the subject. “I need a favor.”</p>
<p>Patricia arched a brow at her. “Is this going to involve me lugging boxes of files to your apartment?”</p>
<p>“Only if you want the workout.” Chuckling, Sarah shook her head. “Arthur’s birthday is next Saturday. You bake the best cakes. If I’m left to my own devices, he’s going to get something out of a Universal Foods’ box.”</p>
<p>“Mine <em>are</em> out of a box. I just modify the directions and make my own frosting.” Patricia used the rest of her bread to sop up her coleslaw’s dressing. “How old did you say he’s going to be? Thirty-five?”</p>
<p>“Thirty-six.”</p>
<p>Swallowing her last bite, Patricia quirked up the corner of her lips. “I still owe you for running those supplies to the office when my foot was broken. What kind does he like?”</p>
<p>Sarah hugged her tight across the shoulders. After a short discussion, they decided on chocolate with vanilla cream frosting - a safe choice. It would be small, since it was only for the two of them. Arthur had a job the day before. That would allow her to take it home without him seeing. She’d just have to keep him away from the fridge the rest of the evening.</p>
<p>They talked about the other things Sarah had in-store for him, the reservation, the gifts. She giggled, pleased at having successfully hidden it all from him so far. “You’re putting a lot of work into this,” Patricia said. “What did you do last year?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know about it last year. He didn’t mention it.” Though Patricia was already aware of some of Arthur’s past, Sarah had kept the details to a minimum. She tried to think of an elaboration, one that respected his privacy but was honest. She started in on her pickle. “With Penny being sick - with everything he was going through...”</p>
<p>Sipping her coffee, Patricia spun her stool to face Sarah fully. “You don’t need to say anymore. I remember. It was hard for you both.”</p>
<p>The empathy in Patricia’s gaze prompted a smile. And reminded Sarah how grateful she was for a friend who was frank but unjudgmental. “Back then, he thought needing or wanting anything from me was a bother. But he’s getting better at letting me love him.” Sarah put a hand on her chest. “And now he’ll never need to mention it. It’s locked in here for good.”</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Yesterday had left Arthur in a funk. One that showed signs of adhering to his brain the way flies had stuck to the tape he’d had to hang from the ceiling of his old apartment every spring. He’d spent close to twelve hours dancing and waving a “Store Closing! Everything 50-70% off!” placard in front of Dave’s Pleasure Emporium in Gotham Square. (The city must really be fucked if its denizens’ finances were shitty enough that adult shops were shutting down.) It had been his least favorite gig in months. But the slow season was coming on, and the pay had been decent.</p>
<p>The dull ache in his lower spine, radiating to his hip, had made it harder than usual to sleep. And soreness was seeping from familiar spots to sinews he’d forgotten were there. Even the tips of his toes hurt. Two more ibuprofen tablets and acetaminophen went down easily. Carefully, not wanting to rouse her, he removed Sarah’s hand from his stomach, wincing as he shifted onto his left side to alleviate the pressure on his right.</p>
<p>Thirty-five was too old for this. While he loved performing for children, he should have made it as a comic by now. And he should have finished school. He’d be able to do more than be on his feet all day, then. Have more options. Opportunities...</p>
<p>Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken that particular job.</p>
<p>The ability to stop catastrophizing, adjust his way of thinking, was new. And rare. He made a mental note to write today’s accomplishment in his journal and share it at his next appointment. The therapist would be impressed with him. Dozing, he thought his funk might abate after all.</p>
<p>It could have been five or fifty minutes later when he felt the comforter being dragged down. Heard the zip of the shades being rolled up. But he was in that snug state between wakefulness and slumber and refused to react. Then there was a pinch on his chin, a light weight on his scalp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled gravelly.</p>
<p>“It’s someone’s special day today,” Sarah said.</p>
<p>Oh. That’s right. He was thirty-six now.</p>
<p>Squinting in the bright sunlight filtering through their sheer curtains, he propped himself on his forearm. She was half-reclined next to him, draped in a short, black nightdress. The one she found a tad tawdry but he liked. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead. Thin cardboard stopped him when he reached his hair. His fingers followed it, found it tapered into a point.</p>
<p>A party hat. She’d gotten him a party hat. He couldn’t hold back his snort.</p>
<p>In his line of work, birthdays were for kids. He’d stopped caring about his own as a teenager. Penny had seemingly been glad he was around. But she never remembered. Hell, he’d had to remind her of her own. But the last acknowledgment of it, the last one before meeting Sarah, had been by a teacher. He’d gotten an extra five minutes of recess and escaped punishment for inappropriate laughter for the day.</p>
<p>This was his first birthday with a person who saw and loved him. Understood who he was. Knew he was more than some image projected onto him. A person who appeared thrilled he existed and to be in his life. As a husband. Every sit-com and film he’d watched had clued him in: wives deemed them important. They hid gifts, cooked special meals, sneaked around arranging parties. There hadn’t been any sneaking on Sarah’s part, none that he could detect. He wondered what she could have planned.</p>
<p>The kneading of her thumb in the hollow of his hip, briefs slung too low as usual, gave him a good idea of her plan for this morning. The entangling of their legs confirmed it. “I got donuts. Coffee’s ready.”</p>
<p>“You, um-“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes at the brush of her thigh against his length. Which was getting harder with each touch of her lips to the crook of his neck. “You didn’t make breakfast?”</p>
<p>“No.” Her chuckle was throaty, full of desire. “I wasn’t going to torture you with burnt eggs.” She was pulling at his biceps, trying to get him to settle over her. “Let’s work up your appetite, Mr. Fleck.”</p>
<p>But he flinched and halted her movements. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. His muscles burned. "We'll get to it later," he promised between languid, lingering kisses. The kind that made him feel safe. Loved. Famished for her. She guided him onto his stomach, stroked him affectionately. Breaths mingling, they chatted lazily until they both cooled off.</p>
<p>Once his stomach started rumbling, Sarah insisted they get up, despite his protestations that he wasn't hungry. That staying under the covers with her for hours would be fun. That they could eat in bed, crumbs be damned. His back would get worse if he continued laying like that, she told him. He needed to stretch and move. Although he grumbled, his experiences with injuries, whether from overwork, assholes, or sleeping on a couch most of his life, had taught him she was right.</p>
<p>Following a cigarette on the fire escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and did a double-take at the round table in the dining nook. He approached it in disbelief. He tensed as he ran his hand along the rectangular gifts and their shiny red paper. Squeezed the puffy, tan winter coat. Fingered the silver ribbon tied to the chair, dangling from an aluminum helium balloon. The lump in his throat forced a short laugh. But he didn't cover his mouth, not having to hide from her. He shook his head, wiping at the sudden wetness in his eyes. "All this is for me?" He did his best to sound normal.</p>
<p>"No. They're for my other husband, Carnival." She came behind him, hugged him around his torso and splayed her fingers on his chest. "You may have met him. Has a penchant for making balloon animals? Wears pants with the cutest patch on his bottom?" He grasped her forearm, held her tight to him as his shoulders shook with mirth.</p>
<p>It wasn't yet eight o'clock. And the day was already shaping up to be one of his favorites.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>At the vanity on Arthur's side of the bed, Sarah was attempting to create the perfect oval eye with brown liner. The wide smile creeping onto her face wasn't making it easy. But it couldn't be helped. Everything had gone wonderfully so far. Had more than met her expectations. She hoped his had been met, too.</p>
<p>She'd been badgering him to get a winter coat since last Christmas. (His teeth had chattered almost the entire time they'd stood outside to watch Gotham's Christmas parade. The hot chocolate from a vendor hadn't done much good. A long bath had been necessary to finally warm him up.) The one she'd picked out fit him well, and he'd seemed to like it, hanging it by the door next to his tan jacket. And she'd known he was attached to his trusty, foil razor. But it was over fifteen years old, taped together, and on its way out. The new one had a rechargeable battery. He wouldn't be tethered to the outlet over the sink if he wanted to move around a bit.</p>
<p>The twitch of his nostrils, his hitched breath as he'd whispered, "Thank you," had compelled her to kneel next to his chair. The poignancy of his reaction had affected her keenly. Hollowed out her core and filled it with compassion and love. He'd frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. "Sorry," he'd scoffed, glistening eyes darting to hers. "I don't mean to be weird."</p>
<p>"You're not, Arthur." She'd gently removed his black and red polka-dotted party hat, set it on the table. "You're being you."</p>
<p>After a quick lunch, they'd leisurely strolled arm-in-arm through the neighborhood, including a visit to the nearby park. Arthur had wanted to stop into the used record shop three or four blocks away. She'd caressed up and down his back, observing his content visage as he flipped through the LPs. It was lovely to see him treat himself to a couple without hesitating to worry about the cost for too long. At home, he'd settled on the floor by the record player and put them on. He must have been feeling better, because he'd kept his earlier promise: they'd made love on the carpet. Unhurried, sweet, and giggling like idiots.</p>
<p>The opening of the bathroom door broke her out of her reverie. She started blotting her darker-than-usual red lipstick with a tissue. "It was nice of Patricia to get me aftershave," he said.</p>
<p>She smoothed the lines of her champagne color, mid-length dress, adjusted its petal sleeves, then twisted around just as he entered the bedroom. Her movements halted. Would his handsomeness, his beauty, ever fail to stun her? Gaze roaming his slender form, she stared at him. He'd only worn his black and brown oxfords seldomly, saving them for special occasions. The wrinkled white socks didn't match his black pants, but they paired well with him.</p>
<p>It was the teal button-up, patterned with white circles of various opacities and sizes, that caused her to need a few seconds to process his remark. It'd hung in the corner of his old living room; she'd eyed it in their closet since he'd moved in. It was such a contrast to his usual conservative clothing. Quite unlike him, she'd assumed. But seeing him standing there in it, the way it complimented his lithe figure and brought out the light green of his irises, made him look a little less withdrawn, she realized she'd been mistaken.</p>
<p>"She thought it'd suit your new shaver." He gave a gentle hum in response, bashful smile appearing. Such gestures were unfamiliar to him. Eventually, they'd become such an integral part of his life he'd grow tired of them. Sarah would make sure of that. The idea prompted a grin and she stepped around the bed to approach him. "You look great. Are you ready?"</p>
<p>“Yeah.” The crook of his mouth, the furrow of his forehead alerted her to his nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, flitted his look to hers. “It sounds fancy.”</p>
<p>She kissed him soundly and he eased into her embrace. “You don’t have to impress me,” she said. “You already did that. Use whichever fork you want.”</p>
<p>The restaurant was in Gotham’s Little Italy district, only a block or two from Chinatown. Sarah had never been to Bamonte’s but her colleagues had given it good reviews. (One had said he and his wife went there every anniversary.) Arthur gaped when they went inside. She watched him survey the lavish, red curtains decorating the walls; the dim lanterns suspended from the ceiling; the faux-marble floor. Huffing, he turned to her, concern clear on his face. She grasped his elbow. “It’s all right. You belong here as much as anyone else.”</p>
<p>The maitre’d led them to a secluded table, behind its own drawn back drapes in the rear corner of the smoking section. Arthur traced the edges of the three lit, tulip-shaped votive holders. Caressed the cream color tablecloth as he sat in the fabric covered chair. An anxious chuckle left him and he smoothed his palm over his thigh. “I hope I don’t spill anything.”</p>
<p>Sarah assisted Arthur with the menu, explaining some of the more exotic-to-him dishes. He was interested in the antipasto, which wasn’t unexpected, since he always kept a jar of olives in the fridge. The gnocchi with tomatoes, spinach, fresh basil, and mozzarella was what he thought sounded best. She chose an old favorite, chicken in a mushroom and white wine sauce and a Caesar salad on the side. Arthur picked the least expensive Moscato on the wine list. When the bottle was opened and left on the table, he blinked at it, then shrugged and filled their glasses.</p>
<p>After a couple of sips, he crossed his legs and puffed on his cigarette. “I wrote a new joke. Well, I really just changed an old one.” He reached across the table to graze across the back of her hand. “Why didn’t the old man like having insomnia?”</p>
<p>Her eyelids fluttered, his gossamer touch setting her aflame. She ran her toes along his calf, his resulting twitch causing her to giggle in delight. “He wanted to sleep with his wife?”</p>
<p>Dark brows shot up in surprise, his eyes lighting up. Their fingers laced together. “How did you know?”</p>
<p>Leaning forward, she traced his crow's feet, prominent due to his beaming smile. Then her touch drifted to his jawline. “It was the first joke you ever told me," she murmured. "How could I forget?” Clutching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. He held her to his lips, hard enough to feel his teeth. And he grew quiet. “What is it?” she asked after a minute.</p>
<p>His eyelids shut. She could feel his pulse quicken together with hers. “I- I wanna sleep with you forever,” he breathed.</p>
<p>Out of anyone else’s mouth, she would have taken that to mean sex. From him, however, she knew it meant mountains more. Adoration welling in her chest, her fingertips weaved into his loose, chestnut curls. “You will.”</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Once, in high school, Arthur had gotten a hold of some grass. It was supposed to induce giddiness and euphoria, make a person relax. God knows he could have used it back then; Penny had started declining and he’d had to learn to run a household. Plus, he’d thought at the time, it’d make him one of the guys. All the cool kids were doing it. Maybe he’d be able to connect with one and learn how to be popular. But all it had done was make him nauseous and paranoid. There hadn’t been one iota of the “high” he’d imagined. He’d thrown it out and never tried it again.</p>
<p>Now he wondered: was it possible to be high on a person? To be drunk on their presence? To feel their essence down to the cell? Necking on the sofa with Sarah, their coffee forgotten on the coffee table, he figured it must be. Enraptured, he wanted to capture her ragged breaths, take her into his lungs, make her a perpetual part of his being. Perhaps he’d stay happy naturally, then, like everyone else. Even if that didn’t work, she’d always be close.</p>
<p>Giggling, she pushed him off her and headed towards the kitchen. “Wait here. No peeking.”</p>
<p>Laughing softly, Arthur pushed his hair out of his face. She’d already gotten him gifts. Let him make love to her. Taken him to an eatery where he was totally out of place and managed to make it comfortable. What else could she possibly do? Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. He eagerly followed at the call of his name.</p>
<p>The loveliest cake he’d ever seen was on the counter. Dark chocolate shavings embellished its round border. And it was the perfect size for the two of them. Sarah was rushing to light a mass of candles on it. “Quick, make a wish before wax drips onto the frosting.”</p>
<p>He mused for a moment. He no longer needed to pine for daydreams and delusions of companionship - he had Sarah. In spite of the icons his mother had had in every room of their apartment, he’d long ago stopped praying to what he suspected was nothing for his conditions and illnesses to go away. Then it occurred to him. Bending to blow out the candles, he wished for his innate comedic gifts to be recognized. To be validated as the stand-up he knew he was. And to provide for Sarah. To be what she needed. To make her happy.</p>
<p>Although he was grateful for Patricia’s thoughtfulness, and he knew Sarah’s baking wasn’t better than his own, part of him had wanted her to be the one who made the cake. But he tried to push that aside and appreciate it regardless. The slice she gave him was far too generous. He ate it all, anyway, because it was delicious. The sponge was fluffy. And the chocolate could actually be detected, instead of a vague, sugary flavor. The frosting tasted finer than that on the grocery store bakery cupcakes he’d sampled in the past.</p>
<p>As he was rinsing off the cutlery, Sarah saddled up beside him and held out a bright purple envelope, inscribed with “Happy Birthday!” in her pretty longhand. He leaned his hip against the counter as he grasped it, intentionally brushing his hand against hers. Gingerly, he lifted the flap and pulled out the card.</p>
<p>The cardstock was a vibrant gold and white. Two mugs, one green and labeled, “Yours,” one pink and labeled, “Mine” sat on sketched coasters. The shiny purple letters underneath proclaimed, “You get me. I get you.” Pressing his thin lips together, he opened it. And sighed when he read the rest: “Hope you know how happy that makes me.”</p>
<p>One of his wishes had already come true.</p>
<p>The elation coursing through his veins made him shudder. He nearly missed the stiff papers that fell from the envelope. Sarah retrieved them and gently placed them in his palm. A wide smile spread across his cheeks as he read aloud. “‘Gotham Pops presents A Night with Gershwin?’” He double-checked the date. “These are for New Year’s Eve.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “I snagged them as soon as they went on sale. They’re orchestra seats.” Then she squeezed him flush to her side, bumped her nose to his. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you sing to yourself in the tub.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes tracing the diamond pattern of the grey, linoleum floor. “I thought I was quieter.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad you weren’t.” Enthusiastically, her lips pulled at his before she grinned up at him. “Did you have a happy birthday? Was it worth getting older?”</p>
<p>His answer came without delay. “Yes.” There wasn’t a way to explain what it meant to him, to explain that she helped him feel good to be alive. How full his heart was. That she patched cracks in his soul he hadn’t known existed. He longed to do the same for her. He cupped her jaw on either side, guiding her to his mouth and rasping, “I don’t mind getting older with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. To Have and To Hold (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.</p>
<p>This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand, and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!</p>
<p>Also, I wanted to let you guys know that my strict, once or twice weekly schedule for posting pieces will slow down a bit. Instead of always posting weekly, I may have to post every one-and-a-half to two weeks. I also want to take the time to work on another short, multi-chapter piece about Arthur and Sarah visiting Missouri. </p>
<p>My pieces, simply put, take 20-30 hours per oneshot/chapter, and the amount of time I can devote to them daily has shrunken. (That's life!) I’d rather slow my output down than lower the quality of my work.</p>
<p>I still adore writing for Arthur &amp; Sarah. It brings me such joy to create their story, and for you all to take pleasure reading it. Please continue to send requests - I love them and they make me happy.</p>
<p>Thank you guys for your support and your patience.</p>
<p>Love 💜,</p>
<p>C.M. Scott</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby.  The hum of Gotham awakening.</p>
<p>Sarah blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.</p>
<p>"Shit!"</p>
<p>Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the  alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.</p>
<p>Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.</p>
<p>The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.</p>
<p>Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, <em>really</em>, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.</p>
<p>At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Sarah had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.</p>
<p>They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped <em>The Honeymoon Game</em>. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."</p>
<p>"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."</p>
<p>"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of <em>Gotham Tomorrow Tonight</em>. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.</p>
<p>The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw &amp; Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.</p>
<p>It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.</p>
<p>He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"</p>
<p>She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."</p>
<p>Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"</p>
<p>It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"</p>
<p>He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."</p>
<p>"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."</p>
<p>"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."</p>
<p>Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.</p>
<p>His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Sarah?"</p>
<p>The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Sarah stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.</p>
<p>When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.</p>
<p>The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."</p>
<p>She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."</p>
<p>His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."</p>
<p>Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."</p>
<p>He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"</p>
<p>Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."</p>
<p>Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."</p>
<p>The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."</p>
<p>Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.</p>
<p>The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Sarah for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”</p>
<p>“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”</p>
<p>Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. <em>The Honeymoon Game</em> had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.</p>
<p>She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?</p>
<p>“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.</p>
<p>She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.</p>
<p>Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”</p>
<p>Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.</p>
<p>But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”</p>
<p>“You felt like you were perfect?”</p>
<p>“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”</p>
<p>The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”</p>
<p>“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“</p>
<p>“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.</p>
<p>Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.</p>
<p>The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.</p>
<p>Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Sarah blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.</p>
<p>Sarah was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.</p>
<p>Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.</p>
<p>His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"</p>
<p>"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."</p>
<p>Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.</p>
<p>His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.</p>
<p>Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Sarah turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.</p>
<p>There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.</p>
<p>She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."</p>
<p>He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."</p>
<p>"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."</p>
<p>Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.</p>
<p>"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.</p>
<p>The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Sarah licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.</p>
<p>Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”</p>
<p>"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...</p>
<p>Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.</p>
<p>Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.</p>
<p>"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.</p>
<p>A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"</p>
<p>Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."</p>
<p>Sarah said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."</p>
<p>She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"</p>
<p>Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Another Decade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur discovers Sarah's fortieth is just around the corner. He hopes to get the occasion right.</p>
<p>This request comes from @hhandley80, who is an absolute sweetheart! Funnily enough, I got the request for this story and Another Year within a couple days of each other. Thank you so much for it! It was great to write.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This morning's therapy appointment had boosted Arthur's spirit. Left him refreshed instead of worn. Dr. Ludlow had given him a break from discussing his negative thoughts and various neuroses. Rather, she'd asked <em>him</em> what he wanted to talk about. What was foremost on <em>his</em> mind. And he'd spent close to the entire hour diving into what it was like to live with Sarah.</p>
<p>Having a person who cared about him was fulfilling. Beautiful. Challenging. Struggles inevitably happened but she attempted to help him through them. (A stark difference from when he’d been on his own.) The faith she'd placed in him by inviting him into her home was exciting.</p>
<p>Fears he'd never be worthy of that trust or such a good, intelligent woman did tend to eat at him. Especially when he couldn’t sleep or suspected he was slipping. But he was trying. Doing his best to learn every day, every hour, every minute. To alter his view of himself to include intimate partner alongside mentally ill loner. “I- I thought it would fix me,” he’d said. “It’s hard. But I don’t feel so bad all the time anymore.”</p>
<p>The doctor had complimented his resolve. Said he was dealing with all the changes as well as could be expected. If he followed his treatment plan, she anticipated he'd continue to do so. Appreciating the recognition, Arthur had wondered how to keep her praises close.</p>
<p>And now here he was. Experiencing the ordinariness of sitting in a diner with his girlfriend. Talking about their respective mornings. Sharing a meal. The crinkle fry he grabbed from the blue-plate special in the center of the table was soggy. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he dunked it in ketchup, a possible punchline coming to mind. If he could just figure out the right-</p>
<p>An inviting caress to the back of his hand brought him back to the present. He hadn't meant to tune out Sarah. With an apologetic grin, he pressed back into the booth's plastic cushions and took another drag off his cigarette.</p>
<p>“I was saying I need to head back to work,” she told him. A smile slowly spread across her face, until it nearly blinded him. “And that I can’t believe we’ve been shacked up for almost two months. I know it’s been an adjustment-“</p>
<p>“A good one,” he interrupted gently, interlocking their fingers.</p>
<p>"I’m proud of you.” The pink on her cheeks was faint. “I wouldn’t have taken the leap with anyone else. I can’t seem to get enough of your company, Mr. Fleck.” With that, she signaled for the waitress, retrieved her wallet from her purse, and got out some cash. Rising, she turned to Arthur. “Get the change for me,” she said, heading towards the back.</p>
<p>Her suede billfold was open on the table, her Gotham City ID card in view. He tentatively picked it up to examine the photo. Her hair was uncharacteristically flat, shorter than it was now. The flash had turned her lovely eyes red, and her lips were agape, as though she was in the middle of a sentence. A giggle escaped him. Frumpy. She was frumpy.</p>
<p>Reading her details, his brow quirked at her full name: “Sarah Louise Thompson.” There was a nice rhythm to it, one that would also work with “Fleck,” if they got as far as he daydreamed. Then he saw her date of birth and stilled.</p>
<p>Her fortieth was in less than two weeks: 4/6/1942. April sixth. <em>Shit</em>.</p>
<p>He’d learned so many facts about her: the names of her nephews and niece; which college she’d attended; her favorite bands. She’d told him her birthday was in the spring. How the hell had he neglected to ask her the specific date? Awash with embarrassment, a hiccup left him and he covered his mouth.</p>
<p>The waitress returned with a dubious look, a receipt, and coins. As he counted out the tip, he calculated what he had in his own wallet and checking account. He’d scrimped and saved to cover the electric and water bills (though he knew he’d have to pay them in secret to avoid Sarah’s finding a way to repay him). Could he afford a decent gift, too?</p>
<p>Arm in arm, they walked back to Sarah’s workplace. She chatted about that afternoon’s court process, and he puffed away as if he was going to Hoyt’s office for an impromptu scolding. When they reached the steps in front of her building, she tugged at him until he stepped closer. “You’re so stiff.”</p>
<p>Putting on a half-grin, he leaned into her. “Don’t worry about me.” He stole a chaste kiss, one she tried to turn into more before he backed off. “I’ll see you later.”</p>
<p>When he got home, he didn’t bother to change into his thermal shirt and pajama bottoms. Relaxing wasn’t an option. Stretching and pacing the kitchen, he breathed in and out, in and out. He needed to focus instead of letting himself be thrown off. Like a good partner would.</p>
<p>Plans. He had to make plans. And not the vagaries floating around in his head of what boyfriends were supposed to do. Special ones. Personal ones. Ones that demonstrated the depths of his love for her. This was important. The start of a new decade. And her first birthday with him.</p>
<p>Unable to conjure other options, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Sarah’s office. His leg bounced harder with every ring. He hadn’t yet spoken with Patricia, Sarah’s friend and co-worker. But he’d heard she was nice. Any suggestions she could offer were welcome.</p>
<p>Thank goodness she answered before he lost his nerve. “Shaw and Associates. Patricia speaking.”</p>
<p>“Hi,” he pushed out, fiddling with the phone cord. “Um, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Sarah’s boyfriend?”</p>
<p>A smile lingered in her professional lilt. “It’s nice to talk to you, finally. But she isn’t here. I can take a message.”</p>
<p>“No, I know.” If he hesitated too long, he'd reveal his awkwardness. So he went for it. “Do you know what Sarah’s favorite cake is?” That question commenced a conversation that gradually became easier. Each sentence soothed. Consoled the irritation he’d aimed at himself.</p>
<p>Sarah liked hummingbird cake, a mix of pineapple, banana, and cinnamon. It sounded intricate and expensive. There was a bakery that sold it by the slice, according to Patricia. Sarah hadn’t disclosed what gifts she would fancy, but had said she didn’t need any knick-knacks, mugs, or other such trifles. As for activities, she was uncomplicated. She liked going to the movies and restaurants. Conversations and walks. The mundanity of domestic life, especially since becoming involved with him.</p>
<p>That lovely sentiment caused his eyelids to shut, an ember to glow in his heart. But it only confirmed what he already knew. “I want to make her happy,” he breathed. “I’m new at this.”</p>
<p>“We all were once,” she said, brushing his concerns off. “Arthur, she’ll love anything you do. Because you’re the one doing it.”</p>
<p>The kindness she was extending to him felt surreal. Not yet used to it, he tried to believe it wasn't a trick. He thanked her quietly, for her ideas and for listening to him. But as he was about to hang up, she gave him one last piece of advice. “Wear your button-up with the blue flowers. And your yellow vest.”</p>
<p>Blinking, he frowned. “But those are for work.”</p>
<p>Patricia laughed softly. “Yeah, well. She likes them. What was it she said? ‘They accentuate his sexy waist?’”</p>
<p>A burn rushed across his face and he rubbed his forehead. “...Oh.”</p>
<p>Well, that was a request he could handle.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>It seemed as though newspaper adverts, television commercials, and even the damned billboards plastered around Gotham had an ax to grind. They all declared the same thing. Women needed to “mold their faces back to youth!” “Guard against aging skin!” Learn they could “look young again!” To be someone other than themselves.</p>
<p>Rolling her eyes, Sarah dropped the magazine she’d been reading in the trash can next to her desk. She’d be crossing into the “Fatal Forties” in a week. While she did use lotion before bed to prevent the formation of wrinkles, and the prospect of gray hair wasn’t one she relished, turning the big 4-0 bothered her less than she’d anticipated. Her looks were minor concerns compared to what she’d gained over the years.</p>
<p>The hardships she’d endured had mostly strengthened her. Allowed her, mercifully, to grow into a person who was comfortable with herself. It was said women were supposed to be set in their ways by now. And in many respects, that was true. She enjoyed her routines. She liked her career. She loved participating in life amidst millions of other people.</p>
<p>But meeting Arthur had changed her path. Started her on an adventure she treasured. A journey into actual partnership, rather than her earlier attempts to please and meet other’s expectations. Attempts she had failed at. Miserably.</p>
<p>He hadn’t cared she was five years his senior. Hadn’t hinted that he’d considered her a “spinster.” Never joked that she was an “old maid.” If she stood in front of the cosmetic counter at the pharmacy while he got his prescriptions, he’d slink up behind her and say, “You’re already pretty.” She’d never expected him to make her feel more desirable now than she’d ever felt in her twenties, stretch marks, moderately saggy breasts, and all.</p>
<p>During the past few days, she’d tried to piece together what he could have planned for her birthday. He hadn’t left any clues, though one night he had hurriedly tucked something under a couch cushion. He’d been a bit out of sorts, though. Biting his nails more than usual. Seeking greater reassurance.</p>
<p>She’d had plenty of good birthdays. There’d been parties and games. Presents. Hugs and well wishes. When she’d taken care of her father it had mostly been forgotten, apart from the cards she’d received from her ex-husband and sister. The passage of time had been marked by worsening dementia. And she had been fine with not caring.</p>
<p>In contrast, Arthur had stated he’d never known what it was like to matter to someone. Not until her. He’d told her he’d given Penny a blouse for her birthday once or twice. That had been years ago, however, before his mother’s reactions to him had gradually reduced to requests to send letters. Before her health had declined when he was a child and he’d had to take over every basic task. Before he’d become too exhausted to try.</p>
<p>Would it be fair to expect him to take much notice?</p>
<p>At the end of a long workday, she’d be satisfied with a quiet evening at home. Cooking dinner together. Drinking wine until she felt warm and fuzzy. Kisses exchanged here and there. Maybe some fooling around before she nodded off on the sofa with her feet in his lap. Such basic joys would be plenty.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The page in Arthur’s journal taken up by Sarah’s special day wasn’t atypical. He’d been writing about her since the grocery store. (“I wonder what her name tastes like. Less bitter than mine, I bet.”) Since they’d shared donuts. (“I shud have given Sara my number.”) Since she’d stared at him, then smiled at him, and he’d felt the whole world change. (“I hope Sarah likes the joke I rote for her. I practised it 100 times! Maybe she’ll let me touch her again. Shit. I’m nervos.”)</p>
<p>With it a mere four days away, there wasn’t much time left for gift hunting. So he pulled on his trusty tan jacket and headed out. He was unsatisfied with what his search had turned up so far. Flowers. Candy. Nylons. It had all been mediocre when she was beyond compare.</p>
<p>On the verge of desperation and distress, he finally managed to stumble upon the right shop. The name above the entrance, Nice Twice, was catchy. And there was a sign: “Personalization available!” Following a quick glance through the streaked shop window, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and opened the wooden door.</p>
<p>As he stepped inside a shopkeeper bell rang. The stench of sandalwood incense and mothballs was thick, causing him to wince. The place was overstuffed, filled with circular clothing racks, shelves of home decor and appliances, and furniture from the sixties. He tread along the faded, orange parquet floor. Squeezed between displays of bell bottoms and coats to reach a large jewelry counter by the cash register.</p>
<p>A man Arthur assumed was the owner popped out from behind a nearby shoe rack. He appeared to be what Penny had disdainfully referred to as a “hippie,” with his beaded headband and light blue jeans. When asked if he’d found anything he liked, Arthur answered, “Not yet.”</p>
<p>His shoulders tilted, drew together as he scanned the contents of the glass cabinet. Being able to get Sarah diamond earrings or a bracelet would have been ideal. He’d heard they were supposed to be symbols of commitment. Show her how important she was to him. But they’d never be affordable, even in a thrift store. There were some lovely brooches but they weren’t her style. She didn’t wear pins, anyway.</p>
<p>About fifteen minutes had passed when, at last, he spotted a suitable piece. The owner gave it to him to inspect. The heart, hanging from a long, silver chain, was a tad smaller than the end of his thumb. Purple, blue, and gold flowers, faded with age, were pressed under the pendant’s rounded, glass front. It was lovely, like her. And picturing her wearing it made his chest tighten.</p>
<p>The necklace was twelve dollars. For two dollars more, the heart’s silver back could be engraved. Arthur could definitely swing that. It took only seconds for him to choose what should be etched into it, having had his imagination sparked by a recent fifties sit-com. It would be ready Monday, the day before her birthday.</p>
<p>While Arthur retrieved his wallet, the owner asked, ”Hey, what’s your sign?”</p>
<p>Forehead furrowed, he tried to decipher the man’s meaning. He was sure he’d heard the question on television and in films. “My sign?” The man clarified and Arthur provided both his and Sarah’s birthdays.</p>
<p>The owner laughed. “Woo wee! That’s a powerful match.” He indicated a collection of astrology scrolls next to the register. “Your lady friend might like one of these.”</p>
<p>Waving dismissively, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe in that.” Seemingly determined, the hippie held out a rolled-up scroll. It was about the length of a cigarette, its title printed in a faux-ancient font: “Aries &amp; Scorpio: Love &amp; Romance.” Curiosity piqued, he pressed his lips together. “What does it say?”</p>
<p>“Only good things, man.” This was obviously a well-practiced pitch. And it was working The man retrieved a keyring full of unrolled, laminated scrolls. After flipping through the collection, he handed one to Arthur. He wasn’t the fastest reader, having had difficulties with it since he was a kid. But he scanned the page.</p>
<p>According to “the stars,” palpable chemistry existed between Aries and Scorpio. They were fun, passionate, and explosive in the bedroom. Snorting, he brought the scroll closer. “Your attraction to each other defies logic. Aries has a tough demeanor, but Scorpio brings out the compassion and love hiding underneath. Scorpio has an inner strength Aries finds irresistible.” Hm. What it said about Sarah was true. And she’d told him he was strong (which he didn’t really believe). He smiled, pleased this silly tract paid him such compliments.</p>
<p>He kept going. “As a pair, you are inhalation and exhalation in one. Two sides of the same coin. Aries is the sun to Scorpio’s moon.” Sarah was all those things to him. Even on days he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel better. Even on days it was easier to sink into the familiarity of misery than to strive for the unfamiliarity of feeling good.</p>
<p>It was after reading the final line that he nodded and dug into his pocket for two quarters: “You will be together for decades, even into the next life.”</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Though she was standing in an overcrowded subway, squished between a man holding a dog and a woman using her as a vertical bed, Sarah felt giddy. Albeit tired. The day had been brimming with paperwork, phone calls, and running around. But it had started off well, and she was certain its upward trajectory would continue the rest of the night.</p>
<p>When she’d awoken, she’d discovered a pink envelope in Arthur’s place, laying haphazardly on his pillow. She’d boosted herself up on her forearm, ran her fingertips over her handwritten name, and taken out the yellow card.</p>
<p>There was a drawing of a man holding a woman by the waist. Lifting her until her hair touched the cheery, red “Happy Birthday.” The couple appeared thrilled. Taken with each other. And straight out of the forties. It wasn’t quite them, but it did reflect Arthur’s old fashioned romanticism.</p>
<p>No preprinted poem was inside. No famous quotes. Arthur had written a message instead. One which made her ache. “What do you get when you cross chocolat with something that goes thump-thump? A sweetheart. (That’s you.) My life is nicer with you in it. Even Gotham. I’m happy you talked to me. I love you a lot. -Arthur.”</p>
<p>He’d returned to the bedroom. Caught her mid-giggle as she’d wiggled out of her nightgown, hidden between the sheets. He was holding a mug. The same one they’d shared after the first of many lovemaking sessions.</p>
<p>Greedily, she’d ogled his damp hair and slender musculature. Light green eyes soft and serene, he’d sat next to her and pecked her cheek. At the flick of his gaze to her mouth, she’d flung her arms around his shoulders. Stubble burned her skin, her kisses to his dimples urgent.</p>
<p>“Wait,” he’d chuckled, putting the drink on the nightstand. “I made pancakes.” Even as he’d protested, he’d splayed his hand on the small of her back.</p>
<p>“To hell with pancakes,” she’d purred, pulling him under the blankets.</p>
<p>Work had been sentimental, which she’d neither expected nor wanted. Her new job would be starting in a week and a half. The small celebration they’d squeezed in served as both a goodbye and “Over the Hill” party, black balloons and grey streamers included.</p>
<p>Matt had been downcast as he’d shoveled red velvet cake into his mouth. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”</p>
<p>A lame attempt to lighten the atmosphere had been needed. No one was going to start blubbering on her account. “You could come with me. Follow the conscience I know you have hidden somewhere.” He’d looked askance, turned towards his office. Trying to soften her joke, she’d patted his arm. “Don’t feel too bad. You could still lose the case.”</p>
<p>Settled on the windowsill, she’d gazed out at the streets of the city she’d grown to love. The city she called home, despite having spent only five percent of her existence in it. It was fitting to start this phase of her life here. The only period in which she’d felt whole, both professionally and personally.</p>
<p>A sheen had been in Patricia’s eyes when she’d joined her in the tight space, nudging her with her hip. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you here, accelerating Matt’s hair loss.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have to add it to your list of duties.” Elbowing her gently, Sarah continued. “I’ll only be a couple blocks away. We’ll meet for lunch. And you have my phone number.” Before her own eyes could water, she’d gone to her desk to cut another slice.</p>
<p>Patricia raised her hand. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Should I be expecting something?”</p>
<p>Finishing her own piece, Patricia crossed her ankles. “Arthur called for tips while you were in court. He decided I was an expert on you.” Sarah’s brows shooting up prompted a chuckle. “I didn’t give away all your secrets. Just some of your favorite sweets.”</p>
<p>The clench of Sarah’s throat was instant. And shame washed over her for assuming he wouldn’t plan much, if anything at all. He’d been considerate, even during tough times. Like at Christmas, which had been hard for him but turned out well in the end. He’d made it clear that what he coveted most, besides love and validation, was to be treated normally. Normal expectations were a part of that. She’d sought to give him a break when the benefit of the doubt had been what he deserved.</p>
<p>Sarah thought a bit. Surveyed the ornate woodwork in the corners of the room. Then she'd met her friend’s gaze. “Patricia, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”</p>
<p>“Because he’s getting you cake?”</p>
<p>“I’m not that easy.” Laughing, Sarah sat on the corner of her desk. “Do you remember when I said I was almost forty and was going to grab what I want? Well, I’m forty and he’s what I want.”</p>
<p>Caution and kindness had softened Patricia’s concerns. “I don’t mean to be indelicate. But you’re his first relationship. Is he ready for that?”</p>
<p>Sarah sucked the frosting off her fork. “Our sixth month is soon. I’ll drop a hint. When he’s ready - if he’s ready - he’ll know I am, too.”</p>
<p>She’d been floating since that realization. Since admitting her devotion to Arthur aloud and thereby making it concrete. Since getting a supportive hug from Patricia. And reassurance from Matt, of all people, that she hadn’t entered a mid-life crisis.</p>
<p>That headiness continued as she fumbled with her keys. Upon entering their apartment, music reached her ears. Music with a faster tempo than the classics Arthur usually played. Hanging up her coat and slipping off her shoes, she recognized it as one of her “Best of Soul and Disco” LPs. She braced herself on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, her cheeks breaking wide open.</p>
<p>Arthur had moved the television and its stand to the side of the coffee table. A blanket, folded into a square, lay in front of the windows. Two plates and two wine glasses were on it. As she approached, she saw sandwiches on a platter. There was pasta salad and potato salad, both covered in plastic wrap, from the deli around the corner. In the center of it all sat an empty vase.</p>
<p>When he came out of the bedroom, magic wand in hand, he stilled. “Oh. Hi. You’re back already?”</p>
<p>A giggle. “I ran.” Biting her bottom lip, she admired his tousled brown curls, feathery, light, and attractive as hell. His face was unobscured by make-up, allowing her to revel in his handsomeness. The top button of his white shirt was undone. And his yellow vest outlined his lean frame in all the right ways. He wore his usual trousers. “Did you have a gig today?”</p>
<p>“No.” He smoothed a palm down his chest and stomach, and she noticed he’d rolled up his sleeves. “Um, I heard you like it.”</p>
<p>She felt herself blush and nodded eagerly. <em>Thank you, Patricia</em>.</p>
<p>With a flick of his wrist, flowers sprouted from the end of the wand. “I wanted to do this outside. On the fire escape. But it’s too cold.” He knelt on the blanket to put the flowers in the vase.</p>
<p>Sarah cocked her head. The juxtaposition of him wearing his “Carnival Casual” outfit, the cutesy charm of the picnic he’d arranged with the music that was playing was ridiculous. The song went on repeatedly about miracles, need, and “sexy things.” She snorted.</p>
<p>As Arthur removed the cellophane from the salads, his shoulders tensed. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he breathed. “I got too much.”</p>
<p>“No,” she replied, sitting next to him, laying a hand on his thigh. “This is wonderful.” When their eyes met, she found his look at once bashful and flirtatious.</p>
<p>She served the sandwiches and salads while he poured the wine, following her request to fill the glasses to the top. Mostly potato salad ended up on her plate, the mix of mayonnaise, pepper, and egg just right. A majority of the pasta wound up on his - he liked the vinegary flavor. The red wine did not pair with the turkeys on rye he’d prepared, so she saved most of it for dessert.</p>
<p>When Arthur held out an orange roll of paper, she was dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. The title made her laugh. She never would have suspected he put stock in the zodiac; she certainly didn’t. Gingerly, she opened the scroll and squinted down at it.</p>
<p>It described her as determined, confident, and extroverted. And called Arthur a curious, emotional introvert. While mostly true, it wasn’t quite accurate. Arthur was only introverted in personal situations, while having the courage to perform as a clown and a stand-up. Those traits could belong to anyone, depending on the situation.</p>
<p>But the next paragraph clued her in as to why he’d bought the horoscope. And given it to her. “You were made for each other. There are times when it’s hard to know how you both managed to ever exist apart. The bond between you is unbreakable. You have much to learn from one another.” A lump formed in her throat when she read the last line, that they’d be together until the next life. She didn’t believe in that, yet longed for it all the same. “Thank you, Arthur.”</p>
<p>The scroll would have been enough. Dinner would have been enough. <em>He</em> would have been enough. But he placed a pink, velvet necklace box on her lap. She blinked at it, hoping he hadn’t spent too much on her. Then she forced that notion from her brain - he was a grown man who could buy what he chose - and cracked it open. Her breath caught.</p>
<p>The heart with pressed flowers was obviously vintage. The size was demure, like her other, few pieces of jewelry. And it was exactly her style: feminine and practical. She was grateful he hadn’t gotten her diamonds or other flashy gems. Her eyes darted to his as she took it out. “This is...” Gently, he turned it over in her palm, and she saw the engraving on the back: <em>A+S</em>.</p>
<p>A+S. Arthur and Sarah. It was a bold move from him. A welcome one.</p>
<p>“I think that’s usually done on trees,” he said. “But there aren’t that many in Gotham.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, she sniffed back her tears and shoved it at him. “Here.” She turned her back towards him. His fingertips dragged along her collarbone as she lifted her hair and he latched the chain. The kiss he placed above the clasp made her shiver. Wanting him to see how the pendant rested right above her cleavage, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful.” She pulled him in for a kiss. Traced his crow's feet. Let her thumbs wander to the slight puffiness underneath. The wine, along with her earlier confession to Patricia, was making it easier to open up. “You have my whole heart, Arthur,” she sighed into his mouth.</p>
<p>His palm went to her chest as he tilted his head, his other holding the nape of her neck. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips and warmth enveloped her. She felt his fingers play with the necklace. Heard his ragged inhalation. Knew that pride and pleasure were emboldening him, because she was wearing what he’d gifted.</p>
<p>Eventually, he broke their connection, told her to close her eyes and pecked her nose. She concentrated on his steps to the kitchen. The clatter of him going through the silverware drawer. And then the chill breeze of the glass door being opened.</p>
<p>When she was allowed to peek, she stood and followed him onto the fire escape. A lit cigarette was already between his lips, and he was lighting a candle on a gigantic slice of cake. “You’re supposed to make a wish,” he said, smoke escaping his nostrils.</p>
<p>She snuggled his side, snaked an arm around him as he slung his across her shoulders. After eyeing the flame a moment, she sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips, and bent closer...</p>
<p>Just in time for a split-second gust of wind to blow out the candle.</p>
<p>Arthur groaned and started to let go of her but she stopped him. “It counts.” She lifted the fork and fed him a bite, grinning at his pleased hum. “You won’t mind me turning grey, will you?”</p>
<p>“No. I won’t be the only one looking old.”</p>
<p>She nuzzled his temple. “You don’t look old. You’re refined.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he scoffed. They ate silently for a bit, but then he squeezed her tighter. “What did you...” Trepidation lurked behind his question, even after their steamy picnic. “What did you wish for?”</p>
<p>“That we’ll keep loving each other, even through tough times.” She lowered the fork, already full. “That I’ll like my new job.” Letting go of him, she set the plate on the metal stairs, next to his ashtray. “That you’ll be healthy.”</p>
<p>He huffed. “You shouldn’t have wasted any on me.”</p>
<p>“You’re worth all of them.” She kissed his bicep, laid her head on his shoulder. The record playing in the background turned over, switched to a slower song, and she grinned. “Now,” she said, “may I have this dance?”</p>
<p>Delight in his eyes, he bowed. She giggled as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her flush against his solid frame. He led beautifully, gazing at her as if she was the only woman in the world, guiding her to the beat she was deaf to. He even dared to raise her hand for a modest twirl, and she trusted him enough for it to work.</p>
<p>As they spun slowly, rotating in the lights of their living room and the city, he kissed her hairline. “Happy birthday. I hope you liked it.”</p>
<p>“I loved it.” She captured his thin lips with her own. “Promise you’ll be here for the next twenty.”</p>
<p>“The next forty.” He bumped their noses and lay his cheek on hers. Sarah cuddled deeper into his embrace, feeling more cherished than she had in years.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Awake (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's one of those rare mornings in which Sarah stirs before Arthur. She reflects on sharing life (and a bed) with him.</p>
<p>This is a request from @jokerownsmysoul, who is very dear and extremely generous. Thank you for sending this to me! It was interesting and I enjoyed writing it!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The continuous battering of rain on the metal air conditioner resounded through the room. Arthur had put it in the window by the closet rather than the windows behind their bed, but it was loud enough to disrupt Sarah's sleep, anyway. She welcomed it, though. Summer in the city was often harder than it had been back home. The asphalt amplified the heat, and Gotham's mix of skyscrapers, office buildings, and apartment complexes prevented any cool breeze from blowing through at ground level.</p>
<p>Her clammy commutes had resulted in curled papers in her canvas bag, curled tips of her hair, and her polyester office wear making her sweat, sweat, sweat. She was sure that pattern would continue today - it was unlikely the ventilation on the H train had been repaired. Lying there, she wanted the sky to open. For a downpour to cut through the humidity. For a thunderstorm to sweep in, in the way that had scared and exhilarated her as a little girl.</p>
<p>Dim, silvery light spilled past the edges of the shades. It was early. She might be able to nab another hour of shuteye. She stretched and mewled. Rolled onto her right side. Tucked her folded hands beneath the blanket.</p>
<p>But the drawn-out, low rattle of Arthur's snoring prodded her whenever she was about to nod off.</p>
<p>Opening one eye, she peeked at him. Then she quietly reached and rolled up both shades to get a better look. Brown waves tumbled over his pillow, the same one he'd brought with him from 8J. His left arm lay on the mattress, his right resting across his stomach. While his torso was half-supine, his waist faced her. The cover had fallen to his thighs, and a foot stuck out from beneath the sheets, toes flexing along with his breathing. Nestling closer, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.</p>
<p>It had been four months since they'd boarded the subway together, his few belongings in tow, to set out towards whatever may lie ahead. They'd only lived three stations apart, but her glee had climbed with each stop. Unable to contain herself, she'd pecked Arthur's apprehensive face whenever their eyes met. Until he'd snorted, pulled her tight against him, and murmured an unnecessary, "Thanks."</p>
<p>Sitting, she let her eyes roam the room. While they were still getting used to each other's habits and compromising when necessary, it struck her how easy it had been to allow him into her place. And now it was their place.</p>
<p>Unlike in his old apartment, there were hints of him everywhere. His blue house pants were draped on the chair in the corner. The watch she'd surprised him with - but he didn't wear - sat on the bureau, amongst her jewelry box, his wallet, and a prescription. With a muted chuckle, she recalled the bottle of lubricant she'd put in the drawer of her nightstand, used when her body wouldn't match the arousal of her brain or they were in a hurry.</p>
<p>She hadn't yet gotten over waking up to him every day, having him be a part of her routine. Coffee was always ready when she shuffled into the kitchen, their mugs side-by-side in front of the machine. Arthur would kiss her unhurriedly, and she usually didn't mind the smokiness of his breath.</p>
<p>When he was in good spirits (which, from what she could gather, was about seventy-three percent of the time), a shy smile would show off his chipped front tooth. He'd jut his hip against the counter while they discussed their day. Or current events. Or a favorite film or show. The little things. The big things. Everything in between. Now and then he'd whip out a joke and make her giggle or groan, in delight and in love.</p>
<p>Before Arthur and she had met, it had been ages since she'd last shared a bed with someone. And even longer since she'd enjoyed it. There had been her ex-husband, Jeff, for over nine years. It had been fun at the beginning. New. Exciting. Even with her lurking suspicion that marrying him had been a mistake, she'd thought she might have found a role that would make her happy. Allow her to fit into the small town she'd been raised in.</p>
<p>The dissolution of their marriage hadn't been all his fault. Sure, he'd been too serious, but he'd introduced her to the legal field and supported her decision to go to school. Had helped shape who she was. And he'd tried. But he wasn't a mind reader.</p>
<p>She'd been too young and insecure to tell him she didn't have the energy to make breakfast and dinner, not on top of a full class load and work. Yes, she did mind him talking to clients whenever they ate. No, she didn't just want to be Jeff Thompson's wife; she wanted to be Sarah Thompson. His but also herself. The last morning they'd spent together had been the first time they'd communicated in years.</p>
<p>Harry had been a nice guy, she'd believed. Nice enough to be involved with for twenty-two months. One day he'd told her he needed to find someone he could start a family with. Sarah had been hurt. And pissed. They hadn't discussed having children; she knew better than to out herself as a woman who had no interest in motherhood. It had made her wonder, though, what it was about her that was objectionable.</p>
<p>And then there was four years ago. Leonard had been a pipefitter who'd done some repairs at her office. She'd been working twenty hours a week, trying to stay sane when she wasn't housekeeping for, bathing, or attempting to ground her father. Leonard had been attractive. Polite. Had slipped her two copies of his business card, one for the boss and one for her. Desperation to have a conversation that wasn't comprised of confused sentences, episodic accusations, or mentions of bowels had compelled her to call him.</p>
<p>They'd been lying in bed when he'd said, "This isn't working."</p>
<p>Signs it wasn't going to last had emerged, but she'd tried to ignore them. After she'd disclosed her dreams of getting out of Boonville, after their first few dates, they'd rarely talked. Her drive to pursue her own hobbies had died as her responsibilities had increased, and she couldn't pretend to be interested in the sports he liked. Sex was the only thing they liked doing together. And it was just to feel something that wasn't awful, not to connect.</p>
<p>"I know," she'd replied. "I'm sorry. I'm not the best version of myself at the moment."</p>
<p>"Don't be too hard on yourself." He'd stood to pull on his jeans. "You're a nice woman, Sarah. I hope you make it to Metropolis or Gotham or wherever." She'd seen him to the front porch, where'd they'd shaken hands. When she'd finally left town, she'd given him some of her appliances for his shop's break room.</p>
<p>Arthur's mumbles broke her out of her reverie as he turned towards her. The tension he regularly carried was gone, his handsome features relaxed. She decided to believe he was at peace. Long eyelashes rested on his sculpted cheekbones. The temptation of his parted lips, mere inches away. The earthy hint of his perspiration wafted to her nostrils, and she smiled at the arousal blooming in her belly.</p>
<p>His lack of awareness of the power he had over her was amusing, though she expected him to figure it out eventually. They had sex a couple times a week, often more. He was an eager late bloomer, and she enjoyed being with him just as thoroughly. He valued the intimacy of the act as much as getting off.</p>
<p>Their lovemaking was simple, their explorations incremental - given his past, it was vital to respect his boundaries. But he was becoming more comfortable asking questions. Discovering what he preferred, as well as what he disliked. Telling her what he needed.</p>
<p>Or the things he longed to do to her.</p>
<p>A shaky exhale left her at the recollection, and she placed a kiss to the scar above his mouth. Her palm drifted down the column of his neck to his chest, and further still to his abdomen, her fingertips following the sparse strip of hair leading to his briefs. When she reached for his hip, her forearm bumped against his semi-hard "morning wood," a phrase that had always made her laugh.</p>
<p>Running her nails along his thigh, she admired the smattering of freckles and his firm muscles. For such a lanky man, his strength was impressive. It must have stemmed from running around Gotham all his life. And the dancing with which he so beautifully expressed himself, whether anxious, upset, or happy.</p>
<p>With a groan, he shifted onto his left side, dark brows pinched. Conscientiousness interrupted her desire and she halted. His insomnia had improved, he'd said. It was rare for him to go four or five days without sleep (though he intermittently did for one or two).</p>
<p>But he had had back-to-back jobs yesterday. He'd stayed in his writing nook until after she'd gone to bed, the mattress having dipped under his weight shortly past twelve. And he had an open-mic night coming up. Letting him rest would be the kind thing to do. It would also give her the chance to make breakfast and coffee for him for a change. Once she pressed a kiss to his cheek, she started to rise.</p>
<p>A loose grasp on her wrist. "Where are you going?" he asked, words husky with fatigue.</p>
<p>She twisted to meet his gaze but found his eyes were shut. "I was going to get you something to eat."</p>
<p>"That's sweet." Yawning, he stretched, then brought her closer until she was tucked into his side. "Stay." It was as much a request as a demand, Sarah knew, and she acquiesced with a grin. She buried her nose in his disheveled hair, breathed him in, relished the lazy drag of his fingers up her back.</p>
<p>The rain outside had reduced to a soothing patter, and she thought he would drift off. But his stroking continued. His grasp went to her leg, and she let him guide her to settle on top of him. "I dreamed something," he said. "It's hard to remember."</p>
<p>At the spark of their centers coming into contact she shivered. Not wanting him to think she wasn't listening, she forced herself to remain stationary. The feverishness of his smooth skin didn't make that easy. She caressed his sideburns. "Tell me what you can."</p>
<p>As he focused on the ceiling, eyelids heavy with sleep, he brought his hands to rest above his head on the pillow. "My ribs hurt - I must have been laughing. And it smelled like the bus." He glanced at her as he spoke. "But then I was here on our fire escape. Throwing my cards into the street. The ones that explain my condition. And then a woman was trying to get my jacket off." His lips curved, giving her a playful look. "I couldn't see or hear her, but she must have been you. She wouldn't stop touching me."</p>
<p>While he'd never disclosed the details, Sarah knew he suffered from nightmares. That hadn't been a shock. The child protective filings at her old job had described them as a common symptom of PTSD, which she assumed Arthur had. Every so often, he'd startle awake, hard enough to stir her. When that happened, he'd normally dismiss her attempts to draw him close, choosing to leave the room. Occasionally, he'd let her hold him until his breathing had steadied. Tell him she loved him. That he was safe.</p>
<p>A halfway enjoyable dream? That was a consolation. Propping her chin on the heel of her hand, she returned his pleased countenance. And the longer she gazed at him, the more acutely aware she became of the hard plains of his body pressed into her curves. "That sounds nice," she said. Amorousness buzzed in the air, despite her earlier effort to behave, and she played with the brown tuft under his arm, traced the hair circling the disc of his nipple.</p>
<p>The pad of his thumb swiped along her lips, and she opened her mouth around it for a kiss. "It was." The bob of his Adam's apple betrayed the fervor growing in him. As did the strain of his hard-on at her vulva. His eyes sparkled with mischief as she lightly rubbed herself against him. Slick pooled in her core at the friction, dampening her underwear. Pressure built quickly, with each groping kiss and graze of his fingers on her flank. The unrushed rolls of their hips continued until their breaths were ragged and she thought she would shatter.</p>
<p>She pushed herself to her knees, yanked at her panties while he reached to help. "You just woke up," he said in drowsy astonishment. "How are you this wet already?"</p>
<p>Continuing to straddle him, she sat and took hold of the hem of her short nightgown. "I'm in bed with you." The cotton going over her head muffled her words. "It's not a challenge." The offending piece of fabric was tossed to the floor. "Besides, doing that to me is an old habit of yours."</p>
<p>He cupped the dip of her waist. "Is it?" Even in the gray, morning light, his blush was prominent.</p>
<p>"Every time we talked on the phone. Your voice is such a turn-on." She folded down the elastic of his underwear, sighed at the slight bounce of his erection as he lifted his pelvis to permit the briefs' removal.  "Everything about you is a turn on. It's a wonder I get anything done."</p>
<p>Arching into her labia, he groaned. "You're always so horny."</p>
<p>She appreciated his attempt at matching her forwardness and regarded him with a smirk. "You should fuck me, then," she teased, placing her hands on her hips to better display her breasts. Then she giggled at herself for trying to pretend she was seductive. When she'd done that in the past, success had never been more than middling. But with Arthur it was all right. No matter how ridiculous she felt, how silly the sentences spilling out of her were, he loved them. Especially when she made him laugh.</p>
<p>Like now. Though flustered, his hitched laughter was genuine and joyous. Different from the one he'd described in his dream, the one that still happened at inappropriate times (albeit less frequently). He appeared to like the role of object of desire. Of her significant other. Of her beloved. And though he'd told her he preferred being on top, claiming it was harder for him to "screw up," his hungry regard let her know he was fine with relinquishing some control today.</p>
<p>The repeated bumping of the ridge of his cock against her sensitive bud was bringing her nearer and nearer to her peak. Especially when his touch skimmed past her ribs to knead her swaying breasts, his thumbs swirling around her areolas. Her nipples puckered until they ached. Bending up, he took one into his mouth, and she writhed harder, whining and cradling his head while trying to support herself.</p>
<p>Her release was approaching, only a few seconds away. She scooted further back to kneel above him. Their hands collided when they both reached between their legs. Steadying herself on the mattress, she held herself open. The concentrated expression he wore revealed his impatience to enter her, but after two or three tries she had to take hold of him. Lowering herself, her pace careful, gentle, she let out a short moan at the delicious pressure of him breaching her.</p>
<p>"Ow, wait." His grip on her was sudden.</p>
<p>She braced herself on his chest. "Are you all right?"</p>
<p>Nodding sharply, he steered her a bit to the left. "That's better." He craned his neck, closing his eyes and smiling softly as he brought her down onto him, sheathing himself completely. "I love how you feel," he breathed.</p>
<p>She wriggled slightly, trying find the sweet spot that would result in rapture instead of discomfort. This was always trickier than she remembered. Grasping his shoulders, she propped herself on her forearms on either side of him and leaned forward. "I love how you fill me," she replied, clenching around his shaft.</p>
<p>Neither moved at first, choosing instead to bask in the sheer pleasure of the other. She ran her hands along his biceps, squeezed the toned sinews. Took in how the light played across his pale complexion and the hollows of his frame. "Arthur, you're beautiful."</p>
<p>He hiccuped on a chuckle, raising his hips, and she felt the blunt tip of him brush her cervix. "I think you're getting me mixed up with you."</p>
<p>His patch of coarse curls tickled her swollen nub, and she was consumed by the need to move. She wanted to find a good rhythm. One that wouldn't have him slip out of her. She gyrated her pelvis in a small circle, starting off leisurely, low grunts and groans escaping both of them.</p>
<p>Then her clit hit his pubic bone at just the right angle and she jolted.</p>
<p>Pulling her down to him, he melded their mouths as he rocked upwards. His supple lips were frantic, tongue twining with hers. One hand was gripping her shoulder, the fingers of the other digging her thigh as his movements quickened. Hooking his ankle around her calf, his other leg hit her ass as he bent it at the knee. "Fuck me," he rasped by her ear. "Fuck me. Please, Sarah, fuck..."</p>
<p>No man had ever begged her to fuck him before. It wasn't something they normally said, from her experience. But Arthur often took his cues from her. She had been his only partner, and she pleaded for <em>him</em> to fuck <em>her</em> - a lot. It wasn't the words that were surprising; it was the fire that shot through her in response.</p>
<p>She watched his brows draw together, the setting of his jaw as lust overcame his face. Lifting herself a few inches, she observed the rise and fall of Arthur's ribs with each shallow inhalation. How his lean abdominals bunched with every thrust.</p>
<p>Moaning, Sarah answered him by increasing her tempo. The smooth undulations of her hips fell away. Were replaced by a hurried up and down, up and down on the rigid heat of his cock. It was heady, as was the rising pitch of his whimpers.</p>
<p>With a harsh cry he surged into her, clutching her rear to keep her in place. She keened at the pulses of his erection within her walls. The splash of his release filling her. The racing of his heart, which she swore she could hear. His collarbones rose and fell with every gasp, his eyelids screwed shut.</p>
<p>Hurriedly, she slid her hand to her center and flicked her fingertip across her hood, feeling him soften inside her as she rutted against him and her own touch. His hand went to her back, encouraging her to continue. To take what she needed. To drive closer and closer to the precipice...</p>
<p>Her climax was swift. Not earth shattering but blissful all the same. It felt like relief instead of being winded. She smiled down at him, her eyes fluttering open to see the appealing flush on his neck and cheeks. Returning her amused look, he brought her down to him. Grinned against her mouth as she trembled, devouring her lips. Nuzzled at her and told her how happy she made him.</p>
<p>A tender warmth diffused from her center, flowing to her arms and legs. Feeling dreamy, she collapsed onto him, humming as she caught her breath. The muscles of her thighs were burning. And the ligaments in her knees were already sore. If this was going to become routine, she'd have to start doing squats or something. She pecked at his jaw. "You're the only man who's asked me to fuck him."</p>
<p>He gathered her hair, pushed it out of her face and kissed her forehead. "Was that weird?"</p>
<p>Giggling, she sighed contentedly and shrugged. "I liked it. And I'll do it anytime."</p>
<p>After a few moments, he smoothed his palm down her body and patted her bottom. She boosted herself on her elbow and kissed the bridge of his nose, then the wrinkles on his chin. "Are you still going to Amusement Mile? It wouldn't make sense with the rain. There likely won't be many people." She massaged his shoulder, caressed him with the back of her hand. "You should give yourself a break and relax."</p>
<p>After a thoughtful “hm,” he caught her fingers and kissed them. "I'll probably stay put. Can I call at lunch?"</p>
<p>How he managed to make her heart leap so easily, she'd never know. "I think I'd love that. Though you don’t have to ask." Cupping his cheeks, she bent to seal their lips, then began to extricate herself from his arms.</p>
<p>But he kept his hold on her. “One small thing,” he said, rubbing one eye. "I’d like raspberry toast with coffee."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Falls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur and Sarah reach Gotham City Hall. Two weeks later, they share a taste of newly-wedded bliss.</p>
<p>This request came from @jokerownsmysoul. I'm grateful for it - it was a real challenge. I can't wait for more! I also need to extend a hearty thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for her support. I've been going through a rough period, which is why my output has slowed. She encouraged me, listened to and helped me work through my doubts, and gave me great feedback. Also, send love to @howdylilflower for reading through this, sharing her thoughts, and pointing out my obvious errors!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gotham City Hall was, to put it briefly, imposing. Statues of former mayors and city founders stood on either side of its massive staircase. The Corinthian capitals of the portico's columns rose three stories above the entrance. The glass and copper doors, made heavy by their vertical, iron security bars, provided a sense of elite exclusion, regardless of it being a municipal building.</p>
<p>As Sarah and Arthur dashed up the marble steps, their buoyant laughter filling the air, none of that mattered. All that pomp and circumstance was immaterial compared to the leap they were about to make. The leap she hadn't expected that morning but had craved for months. The leap into wedlock and all the dedication, trust, and responsibility that went with it.</p>
<p>The Office of Licensure and Registration was far busier than she'd assumed - it was set to close in half an hour. Two clerks worked the winding line of people dealing with the unremarkableness of bureaucracy. A woman complained about the cost to renew a dog license. ("But he's only a mutt!") At the window, a man was being told he needed to head down the hall and to the left. One guy was muttering to himself about what he was going to have for dinner once he was "out of this hellhole." The atmosphere, admittedly, was not ideal.</p>
<p>However, the love of her life standing beside her, clutching her hand a tad too hard, made it perfect. She examined Arthur's profile as he stared ahead. The joy and relief hadn't left his visage after she'd accepted his proposal. Pensiveness hid in the flare of his nostrils, though. In the repeated clench of his jaw. In the quiet bounce of one knee.</p>
<p>She pursed her lips. Taking off up the street and demanding to be married straight away had been pushy. Under no circumstance did she want him to feel pressured, especially not when it came to this. But, she considered, it was natural to be anxious. And he'd appeared ecstatic, too, nearly yanking her onto his lap on the bench at Lemmars Park.</p>
<p>Tucking back the stray, chestnut strand by his temple, she murmured, "I'm the happiest woman on earth right now." She gently loosened her fingers from his grip and hugged his slim waist. With a bashful duck of his chin and quick puff, his arm went across her shoulders. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her his tight-lipped smile was sincere. That he needed this as much as she did. That he'd be all right.</p>
<p>The clerk, whose nametag read "Kyle," was polite and indifferent. Leaning on the counter, they hastily retrieved their IDs from her purse and Arthur's wallet. She rattled off her social security number from memory, while he had to find his card. After paying a fifteen-dollar fee, a slew of typing, and Sarah promising to provide a copy of her divorce papers, Kyle handed them a fountain pen and beige piece of parchment.</p>
<p>Floral borders decorated the edges, an art deco design out of the twenties. The title "Marriage License" leapt out, printed in a font belonging to a carnival barker's wagon. Their names, cities of birth, and birthdays were listed. A final paragraph stated the following: "The undersigned are both of sound mind, are consenting adults, and willingly commit to the bonds of matrimony." They merely had to sign on the respective "bride" and "groom" lines to make it official.</p>
<p>Sarah bent to sign the paper without delay. Not wanting to smudge the ink, she forced her hand to go slower than usual. Arthur grazed her knuckles as she passed him the pen. Only a couple seconds went by, then he jotted his name, a scraggly "A. Fleck." She heard his breath catch as the clerk notarized the document.</p>
<p>The paper needed to be mailed to central office for processing, Kyle explained (which Sarah already knew). A photocopy was made so she could change her name. The official marriage certificate could be picked up in approximately three weeks. To her surprise, he said, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Fleck" before closing the window's shade.</p>
<p>And that was it. They were husband and wife in less time than it took to register a new car.</p>
<p>Exhilaration fluttered in her abdomen. Pumped its way from her heart to the tips of her toes as they strolled arm-in-arm towards the closest subway station. Sarah suggested they grab a bite to eat to celebrate, maybe go to Kao Wah. But Arthur stated he wasn't hungry. "I'd like to be home. With my- with my wife." He averted his gaze as he said the last words, the tip of his tongue darting to his top lip as if to the savor their flavor.</p>
<p>Given how much he'd learned about traditions from old movies, she'd suspected he'd try to carry her over the threshold. She was grateful he didn't. Instead, he pressed her into the coats and jackets hanging on the wall. Kissed her with his entire body. "I need to make love to you," he uttered into her neck. The softness of the euphemism was strikingly different from his urgency as he unbuttoned her blouse. He'd have likely taken her in the entranceway if she hadn't led him to the bedroom.</p>
<p>The intensity with which he fucked her into the mattress hadn't been experienced since he'd shown up at her apartment drenched, lost, and unable to fully accept she loved him. But this moment was distinct. Although the lines of his face were taut, his eyes were filled with ardor. He entwined their fingers, crushed her to him, drove her hand into the pillow. "Say you're mine," he implored, the jerks of his pelvis deep and uneven. "Please. Say you're all mine."</p>
<p>It wasn't like her to give herself to someone. To allow that person to own her. She'd tried that before; it hadn't been good for either of them. Yet, she'd pledged her fidelity to Arthur barely two hours ago. She knew what his request meant. He didn't want to change or dominate her. He simply needed to hear her answer. To know he was no longer alone in the world and wouldn't be for the rest of his life, even if he doubted.</p>
<p>Caressing the expanse of his back and his distended shoulder, she responded. "Of course, I'm yours, Arthur." The tip of his nose met hers, and she savored the smile he pressed against her cheek. "Of course, I'm yours."</p>
<p>She absentmindedly played with his hair. Holding him to her breasts, she went over everything she had to do the following day. Having a plan calmed her, aided her in thinking straight. And the list she was making was a pleasure because everything on it involved him. "I have to call the landlord to add you to the lease. Go to the DMV to get my name changed. Add you to my insurance at work. Oh, we need to combine our bank accounts, too." She peeked at the top of his head. "I have a feeling I'll remember to write 'Mrs. Fleck' easier than '1983' when the new year arrives."</p>
<p>The emerging rigidness of Arthur's frame and the burps that suddenly left him alerted her to his tumult. He pushed himself off her, swung his legs over the side of the bed as guffaws ripped their way from his throat. She scurried behind him to see his palm hover above his ribs as he covered his mouth with the other.</p>
<p>It had been weeks since his condition had flared up around her. Even longer since he'd tried and failed to hide it. Acceptance of his affliction was a concept that was sometimes hard for him to accept; her kindness and love couldn't erase thirty-five years of distress. But he had gotten better at believing it and she was proud of him. Not wanting any of his progress to be lost (especially not on their wedding night), she helped him through it, as usual. Kissed his bicep. Reminded him to take deep, even breaths. Blessedly, the attack didn't last long.</p>
<p>He was wringing his hands, the shaking of his head almost imperceptible. "What if I-" He spoke lowly, fear emitted with every syllable. "What if I wake up in Arkham? Or taking care of Penny again?" Sarah continued to listen as she searched for the best reply. "I never thought I'd have what I wanted." A humorless chuckle as he swiped his nose. "I don't want it to go away."</p>
<p>She wondered if what he was saying was due to trepidation or illnesses. Then she realized the differentiation was irrelevant. What mattered was soothing him. Letting him know it was all right. And real. Slowly, she knelt on the floor in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere," she confirmed, cupping his weathered cheeks. "I adore you." Smiling, she claimed his lips. "I'm your wife."</p>
<p>His toothy grin caused her pulse to skip, and he drew her to his chest. "I'm your husband."</p>
<p>"There's no one else I'd rather be married to."</p>
<p>Laying on the mattress, he closed his eyes. She stroked his lean pectorals, delighting in his resulting sighs. Once the tension in his sinews seemed to ebb, once he looked relaxed, he made a thoughtful sound. "Are we gonna have a honeymoon?"</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>For as long as he could remember, Arthur had ridden buses. They were usually crowded, stuffed full of humanity. A cushioned, plastic seat was free about a third of the time. Apart from the engine, the rides were fairly quiet. Everyone wanted to get to their destinations instead of conversing. He'd gathered that from observing them. From trying to figure out how to make a connection.</p>
<p>The tour bus he was currently on felt like the pinnacle of luxury, with its padded, fabric chairs and tinted windows. A newer adventure movie played on the tiny television built into the ceiling, its volume so low he could make out only half the dialogue. There was a bathroom (a bathroom!) in the rear, cleaner than any public one around the city. Passengers were few. A young couple sat across the aisle, playfully teasing each other. Sights like that had sparked melancholy in the past. Now the corner of his mouth quirked.</p>
<p>He'd yearned to get out of the city. To go somewhere warm, beautiful, and calm. To have space but not loneliness, which was readily available at home. The postcards he'd kept in his locker at work and on his refrigerator had been a feeble attempt to keep the hope of leaving alive. A co-worker had asked about them once. Arthur, seeking to cover-up his vulnerability in a room full of tough guys, had mumbled a quick, "They're just pictures."</p>
<p>California's distance from Gotham had made it a promised land. He would have liked to walk its shores. They had to be cleaner than those of the city. Meet the people there. They were likely kinder due to the sunniness of the state's weather.</p>
<p>He'd lain on his worn sofa or written in his journal, particularly on chilly nights, fantasizing about playing ukulele on the beach with a pretty Hawaiian girl. The light shining off her tan skin, a contrast to his own pallor. The sway of her hips while she danced the hula would match the rhythm of his novice strumming. After a shallow dip in the ocean, they'd make love in the sand. The sun would be setting to their left. A campfire would burn bright on the right. It would have been great.</p>
<p>But the woman currently dozing on his shoulder made the reality he was experiencing finer.</p>
<p>It had been difficult for him to admit his disappointment upon learning Sarah hadn't thought of a honeymoon. The notion had been unimportant to her, as unimportant as having a wedding. When they'd married two weeks ago, she'd said, in her usual, casual manner, "You're my husband and I'm your wife and that's fine." He'd believed he'd gotten her meaning - that frills and fusses were unnecessary, so long as they were partners. But his chest had ached all the same. He'd awaited the opportunity to let out the old romantic in him for years. Those frills and fusses were crucial to him.</p>
<p>The brochure for Niagara Falls had been one of many in the travel agency's window. Its bright blues and greens had caught his eye when he'd passed by on the way home from therapy. He'd heard of the tourist spot on television. Weekend trips were awarded as prizes on game shows. A magician may have gone over them in a barrel. It was supposed to be the honeymoon capital of the world. And it was only four hours from home. He'd figured it would be easy to sell her on the idea.</p>
<p>He'd shown her the pamphlet as soon as she walked through the door, prattling with anticipation as she slipped off her heels. "There's a Skywheel. We've been on the Ferris wheel as Amusement Mile but this one's taller." He'd pointed at a picture while taking her coat. "There are a lot of restaurants. And a town we can walk in..."</p>
<p>Trailing off, he'd lifted one shoulder. "I know you've done all this before. A honeymoon, I mean." His brows pinched. "But not with me. I just want-" The interruption of Sarah's lips had stilled him, the twine of her fingers in his hair switching the racing of his brain to the pounding of his heart. Once they'd parted, the affection in her eyes reassured him.</p>
<p>"That's wonderful suggestion," she'd said. "We'll call a hotline for motel recommendations after dinner. I'm sure I can wrangle a free Friday from Phil." Her eyelashes had fluttered against his neck and she'd snorted. "You should have seen his face when I changed my name. And told him you'd be joining me on every business trip."</p>
<p>The memory made him feel fuzzy in spots he hadn't known existed until she'd seeped into them.</p>
<p>It was early evening, cold, and raining when they arrived. Sarah held her pop-up umbrella over them as he retrieved their shared suitcase. Thank goodness the stroll from the bus depot and to their lodgings was short. Only shallow splashes got on their pants during their scurry up the sidewalk.</p>
<p>Arthur had chosen the Honeymoon City Hotel for a few reasons. The ad had promised a view of the falls from every room, which he'd thought charming. A special newlywed's suite had been offered, Jacuzzi, cable television, and free breakfast included. And the place's corny name. Its silliness had touched the part of him that had bought a rose when he'd had no clue what he was doing, having dinner at a woman's apartment like a regular man. The part that compelled him to impulsively grab her hand while they stirred pots on the stove. The part that could, every so often, envision a brighter future for himself because he had her.</p>
<p>The motel, however, stated there was a problem. The room had been double-booked, a mistake blamed on a new employee having forgotten to note their reservation. The other guests had checked in earlier and couldn't be moved.</p>
<p>Having had a plethora of first days, Arthur understood what it was like to be new on the job. But he was still irritated. He asked where they were supposed to stay, then muttered to himself. He didn't want to be upset on their special weekend. Graciously, Sarah patted his arm and stepped in. He self-soothed with nicotine and noted how, in her kind but direct style, she negotiated a stay in one of the business suites and a ten percent refund. The front desk person told them their bag would be in their room.</p>
<p>They were also given a coupon for the nearby revolving restaurant. He'd been intrigued by the mention of it in his brochure, but he'd assumed it was too expensive. It was just beyond the Canadian border in Skyfall Tower.  Because of the discount and no passports being needed, they decided to catch a cab and go.</p>
<p>Though Arthur usually didn't eat a lot, they opted for the buffet. He'd thought it a better value, and it would allow him to try new dishes without worrying he'd be stuck with something he didn't like. The novelty of the made-to-order stir-fry felt opulent. And it was fun adding broccoli, carrots, and mushrooms, but no water chestnuts because their texture was bizarre. Sarah appeared to enjoy the chicken Kiev and quiche, going back for a second helping of the latter.</p>
<p>Gazing out at the panorama provided by the windows surrounding them, Arthur titled his head. Droplets ran down the pane of glass, obscuring the view. The multi-color illumination of the falls were hazy from the rain. The plaque at the entrance had stated they were fifty-five stories up. In Gotham, he'd never been worth enough to go above the tenth floor. He wondered how fast they were spinning. He couldn't feel the momentum, but their position had changed slightly during dinner.</p>
<p>In his peripheral vision, Sarah was licking the rest of her chocolate mousse off a spoon. Nonchalantly, as if she didn't know the effect it would have on him. "This was almost worth the mistake the motel made," she said. But she winced as she straightened, put her palm on her stomach. "I'm not going to be able to move for the rest of the night."</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes and giving a half-smirk, he stood and guided her out of her seat. "You just need to walk a little." He slipped her jacket around her back. "Come on."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Sarah tried to stifle her laughter at Arthur's bewilderment. The room was...not what either of them had anticipated. (And a reminder why she was dubious about motels that had silly names.) Saying it left something to be desired was being generous.</p>
<p>Brown wood grain paneling, too dark to be considered cozy, was on the walls. Two twin beds, about three feet apart, were on the right. She chose the one closest to the windows, and it creaked and groaned as she sat on it. ("I hope the walls are thicker than they look.") Dim lamps with avocado green shades were on the nightstands in the middle. A thirty-two-inch television sat on the bureau across from the footboards. The room's saving grace was a fireplace in the back corner.</p>
<p>He popped his head into the bathroom, stated the shower was smaller than theirs, and grumbled that there was no whirlpool bath. She did not mourn that loss. The couple of times she'd used one, the pumps and jets had been loud and distracting. Besides. They were bound to test one out eventually.</p>
<p>Arthur made his way to the acrylic curtains and opened them. "I see...a parking lot." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket and sighed. "This wasn't what I pictured."</p>
<p>She knew he'd blame himself because he'd picked the place, which was ridiculous. They'd both agreed to it. Disappointment and guilt on their honeymoon? That wouldn't do. "Vacations never go as planned. That's why you return home more drained than when you left." Reaching behind her, she flipped on the radio. Searched for and found a station playing upbeat music. Kept the volume at a level where the notes of "The Hustle" were barely audible but could still cheer. She stood and flipped back the covers. "Well, the sheets are clean. Help me push these together."</p>
<p>Chuckling, he brought the lamps she'd unplugged to the nearby desk, then moved the nightstands out of the way. There were four or so inches between the mattresses when the bed frames met, but they'd make the most if it. The ease with which he'd moved his bed against hers impressed her, prompted her to squeeze her thighs together.</p>
<p>While Arthur stuck his head out the window for a smoke, Sarah got to work. She dug out the sparkling wine she'd packed (not champagne, which he found too sour) and unwrapped the plastic cups by the ice bucket. After screwing off the top and pouring them both a serving, she stripped to her bra and panties, a lacy dark green set she'd bought for the trip. Then she tip-toed to him. "Mr. Fleck, would you do me the honor of starting the hearth?"</p>
<p>He flicked his cigarette, stood, and turned to her. The desire and love in his intent stare as it roamed up her body, and the softening of his features made her blush. She looked at the brown carpet demurely. "I only packed lace."</p>
<p>The raging flames were half a yard away, a yellow and orange glow illuminating them both. She traced his spine to the beads of sweat gathering in the small of his back. They'd begun mere minutes ago, but she was already light-headed. Not only from the satisfaction of him repeatedly filling her, the joy of joining with him entirely. But also from the blazing heat.</p>
<p>She focused on the drop perspiration rolling down his forehead to his nose, then felt it fall onto her neck. "Arthu-" The last letter was stolen by his lips, the tip of his tongue teasing hers. She broke off, gasping. "Can we take a break?"</p>
<p>Blinking at her, he stopped, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. "A break?"</p>
<p>Gently, she pushed at his hips and nodded. "I feel like I'm going to melt. And not in the good way."</p>
<p>He left the grip of her body carefully and went to the knob next to the fireplace. "I think it's on a timer." She watched his grimace as he attempted to turn it counterclockwise. "It won't budge."</p>
<p>Sarah scooted away from the fire, rolled onto her side, and grabbed her mostly full cup. "We'll have to wait it out." He pouted at her and she laughed. "Hey, waiting will make the quenching sweeter." Taking a sip, she beamed up at him. "I don't think I told you how I got to Gotham."</p>
<p>There was a pause before he swiped back his damp locks. "What do you mean? It was your old job." He stretched to lie beside her, propped on his forearm.</p>
<p>"That's true but there's more to it." Entwining their calves, she draped an arm over his hip so she could caress the modest curve of his rear. "I used to get groceries every Tuesday in Missouri - the shop was further out, so I couldn't go and get a couple of ingredients, like you and I do." She turned onto her back, surveyed the off-white popcorn ceiling. "It would be empty. Lines were short. New stock would have come in.</p>
<p>"I always bought three newspapers for the help wanted section: the Daily Planet, the Toronto Star, and the Gotham Journal. One week I had to work late and go on a Thursday, and the store was out of the Journal." She giggled and shook her head. "I was so annoyed. I'd avoided the Gotham Globe because it looked like a trashy tabloid. But I settled."</p>
<p>The skim of his fingertips across her belly was a series of tender, repeated lines. Her gaze flicked to his, her smile breaking her face wide open. "That's where I found the ad for Shaw and Associates." She brought his knuckles to her mouth. "That annoyance is what got me my job. Allowed me to move to Gotham." She grasped his chin, ran her thumb along his deepening dimple. "What led me to you." Arching a brow, she gave a little shrug. "It's almost enough to make me believe there's a reason for everything. Not quite. But almost."</p>
<p>The concentration in the lines of his forehead told Sarah he was trying to find the right way to express himself. He gave it a go. "You're my reason."</p>
<p>She winced. It was a conversation they'd often had. While she appreciated what he said, held every word in her heart, he tended to aggrandize her and not give himself proper credit for how well he was doing. For going to treatment, for trying different medications. For being honest. She was still finding the kindest, most effective ways to correct those notions. To emphasize they were equals, through and through. "Arthur, I can't be your only reason."</p>
<p>"That's not what I meant." He rubbed the side of his face. Sitting up, he hugged his legs to his chest and his eyelids fluttered shut. "I don't hate myself as much as I used to. Not every day."</p>
<p>He fidgeted with the carpet. Sarah put her palm on his foot, traced the tendons of his ankle. Tried to help bolster him to confide whatever he wanted. "My mother would say she was the one who knew my purpose. That she didn't mind my laugh, because I was happy all the time." Scoffing, he took Sarah's proffered cup. "If she told me I wasn't funny or I did something wrong-" He swallowed hard and finished her wine.</p>
<p>She got it. Penny, along with his experiences in and perceptions of Gotham, had hammered into him that he was hard to love. An egregious, groundless lie. The pain underlying what he'd disclosed settled in her stomach, a dull ache for what he'd lived through. She was about to speak when he wiggled his toe to stroke her wrist. "I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable."</p>
<p>"Psh." She sat to hug him across his back at the waist. "I've never been uncomfortable around you. Not once." He leaned into her as she kissed his temple. The reflection of the hearth in his light green eyes was beautiful, flecks of brown and hazel shining. Gladness lurked in them, undeterred by their earnest exchange. She tousled his curls, ran her nails over his scalp until a pleasured moan escaped him. "Don't ever apologize for telling me how you feel."</p>
<p>A prolonged but companionable silence, then. As the fire died down, she lay on the floor. Pulled him to follow her until his wiry frame covered her. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not that weird."</p>
<p>Enfolding their fingers, he squinted at her. "I'm not?"</p>
<p>"Sorry to let you down." She wrapped her legs about his middle, squeezed him tight as he opened her lips with his. "Loving you is one of the easiest things I've ever done," she purred. She kissed his face in a line, then whispered in his ear. "Planning to proposition a man on the third date was never a habit of mine."</p>
<p>"Hm." At the weight of him hardening against her thigh, she gripped his shoulders and arched towards him. "Did you always flirt with men in the grocery store?"</p>
<p>The mild pinch to his bottom was instantaneous.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>After procuring two apples, bananas, and donuts from the breakfast buffet and bringing them to their suite, Arthur decided to journal. He'd been awake since four. There was only so much smoking, staring at the walls, and trying to go back to sleep he could do. So as not to disturb Sarah, he went to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet, notebook on his lap.</p>
<p>The pen flowed freely and he snickered. It always felt good when jokes came easily. "My mother wud say (change voice here) 'mariage isn't for everyone.' But I found the one person who wanted to marry me. Sorry, mom. It's funny." "I have a wife. It's great to have one special person to steel the blankets from."</p>
<p>Tears pricked a couple punchlines later. He wiped at them with a square of tissue paper. "Today I feel good," he jotted. "I think it's because I like being maried. I'm so proud of myself for sticking with Sarah. The worst days are better. I used to wunder how long I could live with noone caring about me. But I don't half to anymore. I hope I never do again."</p>
<p>A yawn beckoned him and he padded through the doorway to peak towards the beds. Sarah was opening the drapes, just enough to let a strip of sunlight illuminate the room. She was pretty, barefoot, her nightdress ending mid-thigh as the rays framed her silhouette. He sidled up behind her. "What do you call two spiders that just got married?"</p>
<p>Turning, she tapped her chin, apparently giving it a good, long think. "Mr. and Mrs. Arachnid?"</p>
<p>Even if she was wrong, he appreciated her effort. "Newly-webs." Giggling, she hugged him around the neck, stretched slightly to kiss him. "I was on a roll this morning. Maybe I can make them part of my act."</p>
<p>She clambered into the bed beneath the covers and patted the narrow space next to her. It was a tight fit, but he climbed in eagerly, anyway. As he brought her half on top of him, she said she'd looked at the TV schedule and found a movie to start the day. One starring Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn. The film was new to him, though he'd heard of it. He enjoyed the unexpected love story between two people from completely different backgrounds. Nibbling on a chocolate donut, he wondered if Sarah saw the parallels. If that was why she'd chosen it.</p>
<p>When they finally got dressed and headed out, they discovered the Skywheel Arthur had been looking forward to was closed for the season. It appeared they'd gotten married too late in the year for a lot to be open. There was a wax museum and an arcade in the nearby town. Neither appealed to him. But as they wandered the streets, they found the Houdini Magic Shop.</p>
<p>The manner in which she was browsing the props and instruction cards made it was obvious Sarah was out of her element. The only clown performance she'd seen in years had been his. But she was sweet and enthusiastic, and pointed out items she thought might be of interest. He was polite when he declined them. In the end, Arthur picked out a color changing blossom and a never-ending scarf. Although it was a store for performers, he found pens Sarah could use for work. He presented them to her with a flourish, and she promised she'd use them daily.</p>
<p>They stopped by a nearby souvenir shop. It was small, about half the size of their living room. He bought a few postcards to go with the ones on his vanity. She chose three, scrawled "We're hitched!" on them, and mailed them to Patricia, Mabel, and Penny. There was a photographer's booth, too, and he convinced her to have their photo taken. The cardboard frame he chose had "We're honeymooning at Niagara!" emblazoned at the top in bright blue letters. It wasn't her taste. Not at all. But she claimed to like it, stating simply, "At least you're gorgeous."</p>
<p>And now, after a quick lunch of sandwiches and soup at a nearby cafe, they stood on the observation deck overlooking the falls.</p>
<p>Beyond city parks, Arthur hadn't seen a lot of nature. Though he appreciated the majesty of the place, he wasn't mesmerized by it. Not really. The height intimidated him. There had been periods in his life during which he would have gladly flung himself into the depths. Not to die. Just to make everything stop. Smiling slowly, squeezing the hand of the woman next to him, he was grateful not to feel that now.</p>
<p>He swiveled to study her. She was peering through coin-operated binoculars, a contented look on her face. She offered him a turn but he declined, already having the best view. He ran his thumb over the gold band on her left hand and shut his eyes.</p>
<p>He'd heard a song once. The lyrics had said he would be nobody until somebody loved him, and until he found somebody to love. It was plain the love the person sang about wasn't the one he'd felt for Penny. He'd thought half the equation might have been enough. But he hadn't felt much improvement when he'd fallen for his neighbor. He'd grown to hate it, going so far as to hawk the LP, despite liking the other tracks on it. He'd known he'd always be a nobody - he didn't need a tune to rub it in.</p>
<p>Nothing in this world, not even its natural wonders, would ever compare to the beauty of Sarah understanding him for who he was. Of her choosing to care for him even after seeing him. Of him finally having the ability to demonstrate the love he'd always wished was buried somewhere inside him.</p>
<p>Of her confirming his existence.</p>
<p>Her hand going to her forehead caught his attention. He tightened his grip on her, blinked away his musings. "Are you okay?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Just a little vertigo. I'll be fine." Resting on the metal railing, she let out a long exhale. "It's too bad we have to head home tomorrow. This is miles better than my first honeymoon."</p>
<p>A burn came across his cheeks. "Oh?"</p>
<p>"My monthly started the second day. My ex's entrance exam for law school was reschedule, so we cut it short." Their gazes met, her irises glittering. "And you weren't there." Her eyelids fluttered and she cleared her throat. "It helps that I'm with a man who won't tire of my tenacity."</p>
<p>That wasn't a word he knew, but he figured it out from the context. It was strange that anyone would be put off by Sarah's strength of character. Her courage had been what had saved him on the subway. He'd found it odd, at first. He'd met so few people with any hint of it. Hoyt had shown his fortitude by yelling. Randall had talked him into shitty jobs and lied.</p>
<p>Didn't she know her strength supported his own? That her confidence, both in him and herself, made it easier for him to function? Lent him an inkling of what it was like to matter?</p>
<p>He palmed her side, took her hand in his, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you close your eyes, you can pretend we're alone." Flights of fancy were harder for her, he knew. He was pleased when she acquiesced. Kissed her browbone and pushed the bridge of his nose to it. Humming softly, he did his best to imitate one of their favorite songs. He didn't lead her in a dance, but a gentle sway from side to side.</p>
<p>Chest on the verge of bursting, he longed to accurately convey the emotions rushing through his core. Such positive experiences still felt new. He chose to use the phrases he would want bestowed upon himself. "I love you because of your...tenacity." Shrugging, he pressed his lips together. "You were always so nice to me. I think you're the best thing I've ever seen. I don't want you to change, Sarah."</p>
<p>The delicate caress of her fingertips on his neck made him shiver. "Should I nag you to quit smoking when I'm ninety? And you're pushing me around Gotham in my wheelchair?"</p>
<p>"Yes," he laughed, nodding swiftly at the idea of them being together for fifty years. That would be heaven. "And that I need new socks." He smoothed his hand down her back until she was flush against him. "And to take my medication." Palming her hip, he grinned down at her. "And to make love, if you still want me then."</p>
<p>She giggled, fisting the front of his jacket. "Definitely." On her tiptoes, her lips seized his. "I'll never stop wanting you." Groaning, he grabbed her face and kissed her fiercely, knowing he'd lose himself in her as soon as they returned to their room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Homemaking (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the middle of the night, Arthur finds comfort in routine. When Sarah follows, he doesn't mind at all.</p>
<p>This request came from @jokerownsmysoul! She asked me to expand on a paragraph in Ch. 25 of Watch What Happens. Thank you so much! I hope this meets your expectations!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Changing the sheets and pillowcase on the couch at regular intervals. Emptying the ashtrays littered around the apartment. Taking the trash to the dumpster in the alley next to the building. Dusting, dusting, dusting. There'd always been a chore to do in 8J.</p>
<p>Outside of therapy, Arthur rarely mulled over the past, instead putting to use the skills he'd been learning to make the present worthwhile. But when he did, he could recall the moment keeping house had become important to him. More than a task to be completed.</p>
<p>Dinner had been freezer burned chicken nuggets and rice mixed with ketchup. Milk had served as an additional side. His mother had pecked the top of his head and told him to be a good boy. "Happy, I'll see you in the morning."</p>
<p>The length of her upcoming absence had registered once the door was shut. While she'd not been an attentive parent, she normally hadn't left him alone for more than three or four hours, plunked in front the television with a blanket, a cup of juice, and a toy. What had he done to make her leave for an entire night? Had she been mad at him for laughing during a presentation on the school's dress code? Was it because he hadn't finished his food? Then he'd feared the neighbors would start fighting, and he'd have to listen to their yelling again. Ickiness had built in his tiny body. He'd had to do something.</p>
<p>He'd dragged the step stool to the front of the sink. Squeezed too much yellow detergent in it. Turned on the water and tested the temperature with his wrist, the way he'd seen Penny do it when he'd dried dishes. Once his old stuffed giraffe sat on the counter next to him, he'd carefully scrubbed the swirls of dried tomato off the plates. Washed the stuck-on crumbs from the forks. Wiped the streaks off each glass. He'd felt calm when he was done. Grown-up. Accomplished. It hadn't taken him long to grab a rag and get started on the breakfast bar.</p>
<p>As he'd grown, housework continued to help him maintain his composure on days he'd needed distraction from his intrusive thoughts. The stresses of survival. But he also liked the sense of control it imparted. A mentally ill, disabled, put-upon caretaker who also worked fifty to sixty hours a week didn't have many choices. The lack of options left him feeling unmoored. As if the wind would blow and he would have no alternative but to go along with it.</p>
<p>Buying the good sponges, the ones with the green, abrasive side, was a decision in <em>his</em> hands. Doing the laundry on Saturday was the schedule <em>he</em> set. Serving dinner at seven (unless he had a late job) was the hour <em>he</em> picked. Small victories in a life of losses.</p>
<p>But now the days were filled with fewer defeats. His paradigm was shifting, albeit incrementally. Chores were no longer only a soothing necessity. Having a girlfriend meant they were also shared activities. Indications of partnership done together. (Except for cleaning the toilet, which Sarah, bless her, continued to do.)</p>
<p>She moved the floor lamp when he vacuumed. He put away their clothes after she folded them. With her at the office full time while he gigged and tried to break into comedy, he liked doing extra. Taking care of her. Contributing to the household they were building. He'd been the man of the house since he was fifteen; it was a role he continued to take pride in. Especially with all the "thank yous" and "I'm happy to be home with yous" she gave him.</p>
<p>Dishes had quickly become his favorite errand. They took turns washing and drying. He'd splash her lightly and she'd whack him with the towel. Random kisses abounded. Frequently, he'd reminisce about her coming to his apartment unannounced last November.</p>
<p>Surprises made him nervous. But it had been nice to see her a whole two days sooner than planned. He hadn't been certain of what to do. His intuition was to hang onto the doorknob to remain grounded and not err. When she'd said she'd missed him, however, some of his anxiousness had dissipated. Without that, he wasn't sure he would have gotten the nerve to invite her in, no matter how badly he wanted to.</p>
<p>The visit had gone well, their conversation sparse but kind. Even though she'd spotted his medication, she'd let him kiss her. Pin her against the counter and embrace her. Inhale the strawberry scent of her shampoo and thank whoever might have been listening that she existed. God, he'd felt like a teenager.</p>
<p>At that point, he'd imagined being intimate with her countless times. The evening after she'd introduced herself, he'd tuned into a variety show, tried to enjoy the music. Penny was already in bed. He'd been alone, laying on his beige and brown sofa, blanket strewn across him, cigarette smoke floating in the air. Sarah's pleasant visage had taken shape before his eyes. Their handshake lingered in his senses, making his fingers twitch.</p>
<p>He'd tried to ignore the hunger it'd caused. The acute ache. It struck him as wrong, somehow - he'd just learned her name. But his arousal had overcome any residual guilt.</p>
<p>The warmth of her cuddling his side as they watched TV had permeated his skin. He'd entwined their fingers. Put his arm around her shoulders. During a particularly slow song, her touch drifted to his thigh. He'd twisted to admire her lips, full and smiling at him. She'd been beautiful. Happy. His. As he'd lowered her to the cushions, his hand had sneaked into his briefs. It was the first of many occasions that he'd had to muffle himself so his mother wouldn't hear him moan Sarah's name.</p>
<p>It had been years since he'd felt a morsel of hope. But one had welled in him. Like the fool he was, he'd kept it. And for once, hope hadn't cheated him.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>They'd gone to bed a couple hours prior, after the news and the late show. The normal five or six minutes of cuddling had ensued. With a soft "sleep well," Sarah had rolled onto her left side and turned out the light. He'd drifted off within a few minutes, ignoring the blare of a passing siren.</p>
<p>But then he woke to faint giggling. Drowsy bafflement fogged his brain as he peered in her direction. Whispering her name and pulling on the cover didn't quiet her. He shushed her gently, chuckling. She laughed harder. He wondered what she was dreaming, if she was amused by him or one of his jokes. Following a messy kiss to her cheek, he left to putter about the apartment.</p>
<p>Goosebumps rose in response to the breeze, but Arthur, sitting on a metal step on the fire escape, enjoyed the drags from his cigarette regardless. The nights were getting cooler as autumn approached. Sarah had told him the climate was much hotter in her part of Missouri. Did the leaves change there, too? They'd have to go to Gotham Park so he could show her the bright colors, so different from the city's usual grays.</p>
<p>He decided to keep himself busy - it was better than getting frustrated because he wasn't tired. But he didn't feel like journaling more. He checked the kitchen. Dishes had already been put in the cabinet. The counters were clean. She'd swept the linoleum and he'd wiped the table. There wasn't much left to do. Hm. Maybe the shower door could use a good scrub. It had been a while since either of them had tended to it.</p>
<p>As he worked, his circular movements on the pane of glass slowed, his stare glazing. They'd last been in there together a couple weeks ago. Though he'd acted spontaneous, he'd planned the whole thing. The radio was tuned to the station with Dr. Sally's show (which had been set to start in twenty minutes). He'd measured out a capful of Sarah's bubble bath, which he'd never seen her use. Facing each other, they'd lain in the tub, talking and trying to fit comfortably.</p>
<p>The faucet was quite low, though, and he'd bumped his head on it when he'd leaned back. Not too hard but loud enough to startle Sarah. She'd speedily washed and climbed out to give him more room, despite his insistence he was fine. "We'll listen together another night," she'd said with a smooch, kneeling next to the bath with her towel under her armpits. "When we're not so squished." Once she was out of the room, he'd submerged himself completely with a sigh.</p>
<p>Arthur had learned of Dr. Sally about four years ago. She was controversial, according to Murray Franklin, but ended up becoming a reoccurring guest. The frankness and positivity with which she'd spoken about sexuality had shocked him. (And made him wish Penny had gone to bed early, so he wouldn't have to watch it in front of her.) Outside of the handful of adult films he'd seen or magazines he'd gotten, he hadn't heard anyone talk about it without making dirty jokes or being evasive.</p>
<p>Sitting at the corner table in his living room and listening to her pleasant voice as she doled out advice became a habit. He'd made notes here and there. One thing she'd said stuck with him, though he couldn't recall the exact wording. The meaning had been clear - and what he wanted. Sex was the closest two people could be physically. It was important to connect mentally, too. To communicate.</p>
<p>He'd been tempted to call in. To ask how the hell he could meet or attract a woman. He had cologne. He wore pinstripe pants. What else could he do? It would have been nice to no longer have to deal with his circumstances and illnesses alone. But he'd abandoned that idea. He hadn't wanted to reveal himself as pathetic to the whole of Gotham. Weakness put women off. By his early thirties, he'd known discovering that part of himself would nev-</p>
<p>"If you wait until the alarm, I'll be happy to help you." Arthur turned and found Sarah standing in the doorway. Their floral comforter was wrapped around her shoulders, only partially covering her short nightdress. He noticed the deep V-neck its straps formed as she took a step towards him. "Was I snoring that loudly?" she asked, smiling wryly.</p>
<p>His cheeks burned and he stepped to the sink to rinse out the sponge. "I'm almost done. And you were laughing." The confused expression she wore as he studied her in the mirror prompted a slight smirk. "What was so funny?</p>
<p>She hugged him around the waist, and the heat of her caused his eyelids to flutter. "I don't know. But I didn't mean to wake you," she said, tone apologetic. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and she pressed her lips between his shoulder blades.</p>
<p>A huff left him as he shrugged, patting her hand. "I don't mind," he rasped. Whenever he felt the tenderness of her touch, minding wasn't possible.</p>
<p>"Good," she said, her hold on him tightening. The promise of her next words sent an arc of electricity up his spine. "Because I'm not tired."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>"And so my teacher, Mr. Howard, took me in the hallway, and told me I'd tucked my blouse into my sanitary belt." Snorting, Sarah adjusted the bed cover on her lap and crossed her legs "I fixed it and got back in there to take my algebra test." After a long sip of the chamomile Arthur had made her, she poked him. "All right. It's your turn. Tell me something embarrassing."</p>
<p>It was nearing three o'clock, but the time had flown by, sitting with her there on the couch. Neither had bothered to turn on a lamp. Instead, they enjoyed the intimacy provided by the faded, orange streetlights coming in through the windows. He liked how the play of shadows accentuated the girlish curve of the apple of her cheek, quite dissimilar from his own sculpted features.</p>
<p>The escalating game of twenty questions had started off easy, the information shared tame. She'd confirmed her favorite color was lilac, and when she'd asked for his preferred subject in school, he'd merely stated, "I hated school." She'd left it alone. He'd inched closer as she said he was funniest when he didn't try. And he'd admitted her divorce puzzled him, casually saying, "Why would anyone want to be without you?" A soft sound had caught in her throat and she'd leaned into him.</p>
<p>But she was challenging him now - the glint in her eye was obvious, sparkling even in the dark. It was his own fault, really. He'd been the one to take the game to another level by getting personal. Resisting the chance to learn about her was not an option.  </p>
<p>Fiddling with the handle of his mug of decaf, he furrowed his brow. "Um." He'd fucked up around people a lot. Whenever his condition had made an appearance during a meeting at work, he'd wanted to sink into the floor. Sophie's conversation with him after he'd trailed her had been distressing, notwithstanding her kindness. It was difficult to pick a safe answer.</p>
<p>But after some deliberation, he found one that would fit the mood. "I used to- Used to dance in my living room." He scoffed at himself. Put his arm on the back of the sofa and brushed his hair back. "And pretend women - a woman - noticed me." He pulled at a loose thread in the cushion.</p>
<p>Sarah didn't miss a beat. "Was it me?"</p>
<p>"No," he said with a shake of the head. "I didn't really know you. Not yet." Her nod was slight, her stare going to her lap. A few seconds later she chuckled, covering her face. "What?" he asked.</p>
<p>The flush rising through her shoulders, to her neck, to the top of her ears intrigued him. While he was proficient at making her blush (a fact that tickled him), she never seemed to be shy about anything. She put her cup on the table, ran her hand along her forearm. "I was just remembering when you left after our dinner."</p>
<p>His eyebrows shot up and held there. "What happened?"</p>
<p>She waved dismissively. "I was swooning like a woman half my age." Her gaze flicked to his and his pulse flipped. "I'd intended to change so I could start putting everything away. But..." The corner of her mouth lifted. "I ended up on my bed. Wishing you were with me."</p>
<p>He exhaled sharply. "Oh." Had the details in her imaginings been similar to his? He wondered if candles were lit. If they'd gone slowly. If she'd told him she loved him. How close had it been to what he'd yearned for after spilling his heart all over his journal?</p>
<p>He surveyed her. Took in how she massaged where her neck met her shoulder. The way she opened her legs further as she shifted in her seat, the bed cover falling away. The desire in her half-lidded eyes made his mouth go dry. "I wished for you a lot, too," he said quietly, glancing at the carpet.</p>
<p>Given what he sometimes sketched in his notebook, painful things he didn't understand the impetus of, he'd worried his impulses would be freakish. That they'd be off-putting, like the rest of him was. But Sarah assured him they weren't and told him not to worry with her. That him getting up and telling her to never hit him when she'd slapped his ass in the heat of the moment hadn't offended her. That it was normal to like it when she nibbled his collarbone or the tendons of his neck. That her not being able to come sometimes had nothing to do with him.</p>
<p>The hesitation currently churning in his gut was ridiculous. While he was getting better at initiating, having built up some confidence (and feigning it when necessary), it wasn't yet second nature to him. He needed to now, though. And there was no reason for caution with her. Her sensitivity and consideration had borne that out.</p>
<p>It was that thought which finally spurred him to scoot closer to her, cradle her cheek, and kiss her firmly.</p>
<p>Her response was swift, as though she'd been waiting for him. The insistence of her tongue prompted the parting of his lips. She carded through his hair, tugged at his curls as she curved into him. Her nipples grazed his front through the chiffon of her nightgown, and he savored the fire stoking in him at the contact.</p>
<p>His fingers whispered lower, wandering between her legs to caress her through her underwear. The cotton was soaked through. She met his touch insistently, sighing his name. He couldn't recall hearing anything sweeter. Blood was rushing to his cock, lending him some daring. "I want you," he rasped, compelling himself to be assertive. And relishing the hint of power it evoked in him.</p>
<p>He focused on the front of his blue pajamas being untied. The slide of them and his briefs past his narrow hips. They gathered about his knees as she curled her fingers around his erection. "Shit..." He thrust into her grasp with a grunt. The swipe of her palm across the head felt like he was burning, and he twitched in her hand. She was smearing his slick over him, along his rigid length.</p>
<p>Demand was already building in his abdomen. Needing to last longer than three minutes, he withdrew to stand. The bedroom was too far to go. He moved the coffee table back, towards the television, and grabbed the comforter. "You really are in a hurry," she teased, stripping off her nightshirt while he clumsily arranged the thick cover on the carpet. Their eyes locked and he offered his hand. She took it eagerly.</p>
<p>With a soft grin, he guided her to lay beside him. He ran his palm down her back and cupped her bottom, adoring being immersed in her. He pressed her into the soft fabric beneath them as he settled on top. When he rutted against her heat, she hissed and sealed their lips.</p>
<p>A low groan left him. Would the sensation of her supple mouth ever become mundane? His former co-workers had often complained about their wives. Had become bored with them. Fed up. He couldn't fathom ever tiring of the taste of Sarah's smile. Or the excitement of having her feminine form so close to his.</p>
<p>He kissed her neck, stopping only when he reached the swell of her chest. Nuzzling her cleavage, he pushed her breasts together before taking a dusky peak between his teeth. She moaned and clasped his biceps. The increasing canter of her pelvis, how she asked him to enter her without words, was driving his fervor higher and higher.</p>
<p>But he was enjoying himself. The playfulness from their earlier game hadn't yet left. After pecking a line down her stomach, he boosted himself up. She was panting raggedly, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open as she ground into the air. "Please..." she breathed.</p>
<p>Voice thick with arousal, he asked, "Please what?"</p>
<p>She bucked against the grip he had on her hips. "Put your mouth on me."</p>
<p>He laughed lightly, grateful to be at ease rather than flustered. "You mean here?" His soft lips met her navel. "Or here?" A smooch to the top of her thigh. Backing away, he kissed her knee. "Maybe here."</p>
<p>Halting his retreat, her calf caught him by the shoulder. "You're such a tease," she said. Wantonly, she arched towards him, and he grasped the waistline of her panties. The tang of her scent hit him as he pulled them off. He shivered, then threw her thighs over his shoulders. He was ready to give into her, to give into what they both desired. But she shoved a couch cushion at him. "Here."</p>
<p>After a pause, he took it with a murmured "okay," the last syllable elongated. She propped herself on her elbow, helped him get it under the swell of her bottom and lower back. When he asked what it was for, she explained he could strain his neck. He pushed his face into her leg, snorting. That had happened last time, after a long day at work. He didn't think it would happen again. It was sweet of her, though, to consider him, so he didn't argue.</p>
<p>His gaze flitted to her vulva. While he couldn't see much in the low light, he was well acquainted with her body. The first time he'd really seen her, he'd been a little surprised. She wasn't like the models he'd seen in photographs. Her inner lips were visible, extended past her labia, especially when she was turned-on. Her clitoris was easy to find, thank god. Once, she'd told him she used to be self-conscious about it, the result of a doctor making a disparaging remark when she got her first IUD. She claimed it no longer bothered her, but Arthur knew the lasting sting of unkindness. And wanted her to know she was beautiful.</p>
<p>"Mm," he breathed, kissing her pubic bone gently. Then he dipped lower to press his tongue to her plump folds. She rolled up to meet him with a sharp cry. "I love your taste."</p>
<p>She giggled and his eyes darted to hers. Thankfully, it had become easier to watch her while he did this. Her pleasure at his compliment was obvious, what with the flirtatiousness of her gaze. He thought he could make out a growing ruddiness in her cheeks, and admired the round shape her lips formed.</p>
<p>It was impossible to lay still. His nose brushed her as he nestled in her short curls, gripping her thigh and skimming the soft skin. Her bud was engorged, jutting out slightly from its hood. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick at it, and her hand flew to his curls as she called his name.</p>
<p>He altered his angle, tilted his head to the side while he stroked her labia. She was getting wetter, her arousal more abundant under his attention. Knowing he satisfied her filled him with pride. Those lonely nights listening to the radio had been good for something.</p>
<p>As his fore- and middle fingers traced her entrance, slipped inside her, she whined and bore down on him. Groaning, his thin lips enclosed her clitoral hood. He concentrated on getting the rhythm right, coordinating the movement of his hand with the passes of his tongue. The clutch to his locks grew stronger as she rocked, pulling him harder to her flesh. One of her legs wrapped about his upper back, the other braced on her foot by his side. His thrusts quickened and he bent his knuckle, her increasing cries emboldening him further.</p>
<p>At her short wail, he lifted himself to look at her. Observe her frame as she bowed backwards. The rise and fall of her breasts with the exertion of her punctuated gasps. The way she blindly reached for purchase. He yanked the cushion out from under her. Unable to wait any longer, he crawled over her until they were face to face, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and lined himself up with her opening.</p>
<p>His eyes screwed shut as he sunk into her searing, snug walls. He let out ragged breaths, tinged with low rasps. "I love you," he blurted.</p>
<p>She grasped his sides. "I love you, too."</p>
<p>Hips snapping into hers, he gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I love you."  </p>
<p>"Fill me up," she whispered, her heels at his ass. "Fill me up."</p>
<p>Quickly, he reached between them to toy with her nub, wanting his actions to match the urgency of her pleas. But she took hold of his wrist, ran her thumb along it as she pecked his chin. "I'm good so enjoy yourself," she laughed. Then she pressed her forehead his. "I just need to have you."</p>
<p>Her hands cherishing his back, caressing and holding him close, elated him. She always managed to do that, to make him feel esteemed, even on days he didn't value himself. Sometimes he pined for their coupling to be endless. Being a part of her felt like home.</p>
<p>But he couldn't stop. She was gazing at him unblinkingly, adulation clear in the flecks of her irises. Begging him to come inside her. Saying she needed him. The scorch of her was potent, the friction staggering. Somehow, the undulations of her pelvis managed to meet his pace...</p>
<p>The tempo of his rushed movements became uneven. His brain suddenly went white, only aware of her surrounding him. Cock throbbing with pleasure, his hips stuttered involuntarily while he emptied into her, a gravelly moan on his lips. After those too few, exquisite seconds, he fell onto her, gasping and thoroughly spent.</p>
<p>Sarah's calf left his waist, and she let out a long breath. "I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke."</p>
<p>Arthur grinned, mind awash with dreamy stupor. "You're not gonna start. 'It's a nasty habit,'" he said wryly, quoting her. He rolled off and lay on his back by her side. Stretching the loose part of the comforter over his middle, he chuckled. "You know, of the few things I thought I'd be okay at, this wasn't one of them."</p>
<p>The smile she gave him let him know what she was thinking. She'd said she wanted to hear him compliment himself more, that he deserved it and didn't do it enough. When she nibbled his earlobe he jerked slightly, a tickle in his neck. "Gotham has no idea what it's been missing." Her tone turned serious. "But you can make it about yourself, too. I'd enjoy that."</p>
<p>Brows pinching, he frowned slightly. She'd appeared pleased just a minute ago. Had he done something wrong? Or was he misreading her now? He gaped, about to ask what she meant.</p>
<p>But she started again, smoothing her hand across his stomach. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm here for you, though. If you need to fuck a bad mood away, it's fine. If I don't want to, I'll tell you."</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the stray couch cushion. "You never don't want to." He put it under his head, adjusted his neck until he was a version of comfortable. While it has true he had bad days, he tried to shield her from them. He'd be lying to himself if he pretended her suggestion hadn't crossed his mind. It'd never stuck, though - he couldn't bear the thought of using her. With her permission, maybe it would be all right. He pressed his lips together. "But I'll keep it in mind."</p>
<p>Eventually, Sarah sat and stretched, placed her palms on her back as she popped it. "I'm going to drift off at my desk if I don't go to bed." She stood shakily, grasping the arm of the sofa. "And I'll need a hot water bottle if I stay on the floor." After she gathered her clothes, she turned to him. "Are you coming with me?"</p>
<p>He pulled on his briefs with a shake of his head. "I can't sleep now."</p>
<p>There was a pause, then she gave a small shrug. "Keep me company until I do?"</p>
<p>Stilling, he looked up at her, a smile spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah," he said warmly, his heart in his throat at the request. A request couldn't deny. "I'll be right there." She bent and pecked his forehead, then scurried off into the bedroom, comforter in hand. He watched as she retreated, listened as she flopped down on the mattress. Hurriedly, he put the cushion back in its place and followed, already impatient to have her in his arms again.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Fun and Only</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>During a night out, Sarah and Arthur bump into someone from Arthur’s past. Sarah tries to decipher him.</p><p>This was a request from the sweet, kind @imdeaddear2! I hope you like it! Thank you for making the request, because I never would have written this scenario without it. 😀</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Sarah, it's little league season. Know what that means?"</p><p>Needing to finish the paragraph she was reading, Sarah raised a finger. The dense case on her desk was a tough assignment; she'd been toiling at it most of the morning. She liked her new position. Truly. But the pace at which she prepared files was slower than she would have preferred. The particulars of labor laws were, well...laborious. Reviewing evidence types she wasn't familiar with took time. It made her impatient. Anxious to soak up all the information she could get her hands on.</p><p>But, she supposed, no longer being plagued by guilt for indirectly supporting the Waynes was worth the learning curve.</p><p>Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her ankles, swinging her foot back and forth as she regarded Terry. While he was incredibly friendly, chatting with everyone and anyone, they remained acquaintances. Periodically, she conferred with him over a motion or sought to get his opinion about the upcoming mayoral election. ("I've seen Wayne's legal bullshit. He's not getting my vote.") Those discussions didn't go far. Usually, he tried to bond over parental matters - she and Arthur didn't even have a plant.</p><p>She could tell this was going to be another attempt. "You're doing a fundraiser and I should buy chocolate bars?" she asked.</p><p>"Even better." Digging into his too-tight pants pocket, he retrieved a checkbook-sized pamphlet. "The Gotham Squires are selling these to charter a bus for the All-Stars tournament. They're the number two team in the state!" He shoved a photo of his kid at her.</p><p>She murmured a polite, "He's all grown-up." He spoke of the team's new uniforms and his nine-year-old's batting average. Half-listening, she flipped through the booklet. It was a coupon collection, mostly two-for-one sales at various restaurants and vouchers for discounted movie tickets, good on weekdays only. They were quite pricey at fifteen dollars apiece. But she was inclined to buy one. The savings might help Arthur practice letting go of his wallet. Allow him to stop worrying about money and indulge a little, the way he deserved.</p><p>What made the cash fly from her purse to Terry's palm was the certificate in the back: a half-off deal for Amusement Mile. Satisfaction was written all over her face as she studied the yellow cardstock's terms and conditions, the outline of a circus tent, the faded ink encouraging her to "Enjoy the Ride!" Coming from a rural area, she'd never gone to an amusement park. One had been four or so hours east, but her father had preferred to stay close to home, fearing he might be needed in an emergency.</p><p>The annual county fair had been a must. Everyone had worn his or her Sunday Best, the occasional breeze kicking up dirt as they toured the fairground. The rides had been creaky, unsound, and should have been reported to the local safety commission. She'd gone on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant slide, waving at her parents and hanging onto her burlap sack. One year, Mabel had screamed and cried until Sarah grabbed her hand and led them out of the house of mirrors.</p><p>Swinging the mallet as hard as he could, her father had impressed her mother with the strongman game. The puck wouldn't hit the bell. Doily and needlework competitions had been her mother's purview, crafts Sarah had practiced but quickly tired of. She'd preferred the pie contest. Her mouth had watered, hankering for a taste of the first-place winner. The agricultural exhibits had been the largest section, with its prized horses, pigs, and chickens. She'd broken the rules and stuck her fingers in the rabbit cages to feel their soft fur; she'd been bitten once.</p><p>Wistfulness wasn't the only reason the theme park appealed to her. There was Arthur's history with it. He kept a postcard of the Ferris wheel pinned to the divider in his writing nook. And he'd described some of the odd jobs he'd done. Carrying boxes of merchandise, filling in for other clowns, picking up litter (and keeping the returnables). It hadn't been steady, merely hours offered to him if he'd inquired. But it'd given him pocket change. Enough to buy cigarettes and keep the utilities on for another month.</p><p>The week had been warm up till now, and the good weather was expected to continue. He loved taking her to new corners of the city, had ever since their first date. Introducing her to his old stomping ground wouldn't take a lot of convincing.</p><p>When she got home, he was perched on the sofa, clad in a thermal shirt and a pair of her too-short pajama bottoms. (A funny combination that meant their laundry was in the machine.) Elbows on his knees, journal on the coffee table, and pen at the ready, his concentration was plain to see. The discipline he had to pursue his dreams, the way he studied comedy specials on TV was admirable. She got a glass of water and smiled at his ill-timed laughter. That he didn't understand the host's humor was logical. Roasts were usually unkind. While Arthur's jokes weren't always funny, they weren't mean-spirited.</p><p>She crouched next to him, peppered kisses along his shoulder. His damp curls brushed her cheek, and she breathed in the zesty musk of his shampoo. "I wouldn't waste too much effort on this guy," she said. Her caress followed the freckles on his bare forearm, feeling the muscle flutter under her fingertips. "He's kind of an asshole."</p><p>"The audience helps me figure out the timing." He muted the television, lips quirking. "You like some of his songs."</p><p>"He makes a better singer than comedian," she rebutted with a peck.</p><p>They went over their respective days, how his earlier appointment went, the paperwork she'd done. Tuna casserole was their choice for dinner, and Arthur put on an LP while they cooked. Once the dish was in the oven, she hugged him close. "I have an idea for Thursday night." She went over the Amusement Mile discount, enthused about his expertise, reveled in how her praise softened his features and brightened his eyes. "I'd love it if you took me around. Taught me all the magic behind the scenes. And I'm dying to see where you do your street performances." She massaged the nape of his neck. "Maybe I'll stop by and give you a tip."</p><p>Crooked tooth peeking out, he nodded. Then he grasped the counter on either side of her hips and pressed his forehead to hers. "That sounds great."</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>A small memorial flowerbed, filled with alternating swirls of white gardenias, purple pansies, and yellow daffodils, was situated just beyond the park's main entrance. The marble fountain bubbling in the center reminded Sarah of a bird bath. It was modest, from a bygone era in which the wealthy hadn't dared to flaunt their fortunes for fear of strikes. The bronze plaque declared the city's thanks to Benjamin Wayne for funding Amusement Mile's construction during the height of Gotham's industrial boom. Before most of the factories had fled. Before times had become tough for the majority Gothamites. It was annoying, how the Waynes had their fingers in everything. She hoped not one nickel of what they spent tonight went into their bank accounts.</p><p>Arthur paid it no mind. His head was tipped back a degree or two, his clear green eyes darting from attraction to attraction. Smoking was one of his habits she disapproved of. But she couldn't dispute how attractive he was, puffing the cigarette dangling from his puckered lips. The chestnut tones of his brown hair were brought to the fore by the grounds' multi-color lighting, and a lock or two fell over his temples. The loose curls at his neck bounced with each step, a boyish buoyancy to his gait.</p><p>Her stomach growled as soon as the aroma of fair food hit her. They picked a booth that claimed it sold Gotham's original franks. He asked to order for her. She let him, watching as his grin widened and he stated, "Four hot dogs for my girlfriend and me, please. With relish and mustard." Then they shared a candy apple, taking turns nibbling at the fruit's hard, sugary shell. Its juice dribbled onto her pale pink top, staining the embroidered neckline. Her groan of disapproval became giggling as he stole chaste kisses, wiping her off as she chewed.</p><p>His palm at the small of her back, guiding her as they walked down the midway, fanned a glow in her heart. He'd made headway when it came to displaying his affection in public, though he still tended towards timidity. Early on, she'd concluded his reticence had nothing to do with her - he never pulled away if she grabbed at him. He was simply a gentleman.</p><p>Most examples he followed were from an older era, one lost to the bluntness of the eighties. Those moments he'd let himself go, when he'd make it clear they were a couple, lifted her spirit. Not only due to the pride she felt at being on his arm, but also because it meant he was finding his own way. Arthur wasn't a shy suitor <em>or</em> a contemporary romantic hero. Rather, he was somewhere in the middle. Old fashioned, through and through, with threads of modernity woven into his fibers.</p><p>As they strolled, they stumbled onto a black and white photo booth. She sat on its cracked wooden stool and tried to tug him inside. But he wanted a picture of her, he said. To put in his wallet. To look at if he was having a bad day and wasn't at home. Her response was to snag his collar and yank him to her lips. Snorting, he shut the nylon curtain. At the clink of quarters in the coin slot, she straightened her puffed, cap sleeves and fixed her hair in the scratched featherweight mirror. The camera's flashes blinded her, but she thought she'd managed to smile naturally enough.</p><p>Before she had a chance to stand, he whipped open the drape and showed her the strip of portraits. "I knew I was dating the prettiest woman in the city. Maybe even the sweetest."</p><p>She cupped his cheeks as she stepped out. Rubbed the tip of her nose to his. He was unfailingly generous. Too generous. While she was fine with her appearance, she wouldn't win a beauty pageant. Hell, she wouldn't even be a runner-up. Or a contestant. And sweet was one of the last words she'd use to describe herself. But she wasn't going to correct him. "And I found the handsomest, funniest man." His stare was wide-eyed. After releasing a stuttering breath, he pulled her along.</p><p>Upon entering the gaming area, he slung his arm around her waist. Mischief laced his whisper as he spilled secrets. The darts for the balloon pop were dull, the balloons underinflated. He advised her to stay clear of the baseball and milk bottle stand, saying, "The bottom bottles have lead in them. You'll never knock them over."</p><p>Then he warned her off the ring toss, saying the rings were too small to win the best prizes. She decided to take her chances, regardless, and paid the attendant. Arthur tutted gently as she gave him the last ring, having already wasted four.  A step to the side, then he paused to line up his throw. A short clap announced his victory. The prize options included a dinky toy car and a rubber snake. She picked a plastic, red keychain, embossed with "I was Amused in 1982" and the silhouette of a coaster. It was an improvement over her old car dealership tag. "I'll think of tonight whenever I see it."</p><p>Gaze fixed on her mouth, he sighed happily. He began to reach towards her, his arm raised ever so slightly-</p><p>"Art!" a rich baritone called. "Hey, Art!"</p><p>Arthur flinched. She moved to peer behind him. The approaching man was tall, his balding head half a foot higher than Arthur's. A blue and red flannel shirt with gray trousers covered his portly physique. Confidence oozed from him with every stride, a pleasantly surprised smirk on his round face.</p><p>Sarah's interest was piqued. Unless it was someone who remembered Arthur from <em>Live! with Murray Franklin</em>, no one ever approached him on the street. And she hadn't heard him be referred to by anything other than his proper name (besides Penny's terrible "Happy.").</p><p>But his reactions concerned her. Arthur's back tensed as the man closed in, stopping a yard away. "Hi, Randall."</p><p>"How's my boy been?" Randall asked jovially, hands at his sides. "Gary told us about your mom. Could you use a little cheering up?"</p><p>Arthur blinked faster than usual. "No. She's okay. And I feel a lot better now."</p><p>"Oh. Well, good for you," Randall said.</p><p>Going back and forth between them, she tried to puzzle out their dynamic. Their familiarity was obvious. Randall seemed caring enough, although she found it odd he'd referred to her thirty-five-year-old partner as "boy." Arthur had mentioned Gary was a former colleague. It would make sense Randall was, too.</p><p>He threw her a glance. "Hey, you have family visiting. Is this your cousin?"</p><p>She brushed off the assumption and extended her hand. "I'm Sarah Thompson. His girlfriend."</p><p>"Oh, yeah. The paralegal." He shook it firmly before addressing Arthur again. "Gary said you finally got a date."</p><p>The pat to Arthur's bicep was a little too hard, jolting his stiff frame. The set of his jaw and flaring of his nostrils betrayed a turmoil she hadn't initially picked up on. She touched his hand but he shoved it in his pocket.</p><p>All right. She had to get to the bottom of this. It was hard to ascertain if his current reaction was due to his social challenges (which could cause discomfort) or Randall's words. She didn't want to jump to conclusions. After all, she and Patricia teased each other whenever they met for lunch or chatted on the phone. A good ribbing was needed every once in a while.</p><p>Starting a cross-examination in front of Arthur would contribute to his unease. After a moment's deliberation, she nudged him. It took a couple of tries to get his attention. "Would you please get us a large lemonade?" His brows rose, anxiety in the wrinkles of his forehead. She stretched to kiss his temple. His eyes narrowed but he got the hint, scuffing his shoe and glowering at Randall as he walked off.</p><p>When Arthur rounded a corner by the water pistol race, she lounged on one of the booth's metal poles. "Have you known Arthur long?"</p><p>Randall nodded in the direction Arthur had gone. "We worked at HaHa's. I'm a clown, too. We did parties, the children's hospital, store openings."</p><p>"Arthur loved that job." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's too bad the slow season hit. But he's doing pretty well on his own."</p><p>Confusion crossed the big man's visage. "Uh, yeah. The slow season." He chuckled, then. "Anyway, you and Art, huh?"</p><p>Smiling broadly, she folded her arms over her chest. "Yes, me and Art."</p><p>"Pretty serious, huh?"</p><p>If he wanted gossip to bring back to the workplace, she'd gladly give him some. Especially if it reflected well on Arthur. "We live together. It's been great."</p><p>"No kidding." With a sardonic grin, he shook his head. "A woman like you. I didn't know he had it in him. It was always just him and his mom. Talked about stand-up sometimes. Mostly kept to himself, though. Never really talked much." Randall shrugged lightly. "But we liked him. He did all the shitty jobs no one wanted and never complained."</p><p>Arching a brow, Sarah felt her suspicions grow. While Arthur was learning to disagree and contradict her without hesitation, he nevertheless had the inclination to go along. It was plausible he hadn't argued about gigs. Had they taken his preferences into account?</p><p>Then Randall confirmed her skepticism, saying in a jokey tone, "That laugh really got everyone going, too. And his laminated cards. We had a pool on whether it was part of his act. I mean, him being in Arkham and all, who knows what the fuck he could have come up with?"</p><p>Deciphering what kind of man stood in front of her was suddenly uncomplicated. She'd run into his type all too often. They lurked in garages and offices. Diners and restaurants. Courtrooms on both sides of the bench. People with no real power who walked on others. Persons who threw their weight around to feel in charge. Bullies who hid behind a veneer of kindness.</p><p>She understood why he'd called Arthur "boy."</p><p>What she said had to be chosen carefully. Randall and Arthur worked in the same field, likely competed for clients. If her big mouth came back on Arthur, she wouldn't forgive herself. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and forced her voice to stay professional. "If you liked him, wouldn't you have split the less desirable jobs with him? I'm sure he didn't like being taken advantage of."</p><p>His looked at her in disbelief. "Hey, he was paid fair and square, like all of us."</p><p>"And he understands how to speak to a 'woman like me' more than you ever will." A sharp exhale as her cheeks burned. "From what Arthur has said, you could learn a lot from Gary. Please tell him hello from us and have a good evening." With that, she headed off to find Arthur, ignoring Randall's lame attempts to call her back.</p><p>Arthur was in line when she spotted him. He stepped forward and pointed to the menu. As she approached, she noticed how he fidgeted with his cigarette, tapping it repeatedly though there was no ash. The subtle tremble in his knee. If he continued to carry himself so tightly, his muscles would cramp.</p><p>Clearing her throat, she slipped behind him and hugged his back. "Did you have to deal with that insufferable know-it-all every day?"</p><p>He grabbed the proffered cup from the clerk and headed to a nearby table. Plunked himself down and took a drag off his smoke. Stress poured off him, clear in every flex of his fingers. His palm went to his stomach as he practiced controlling his breathing. "What- What did he tell you? That everyone thought I was a freak? How much I fucked up?" His voice lowered then, barely above a whisper. She could tell he was talking to himself. "The hospital?"</p><p>"Enough to know he was a jerk. I'm glad you're not there anymore." She put her chin on his shoulder. Watched him take a sip of lemonade. "Nothing he said matters, but I told him how important you are to me." She tucked a hair behind his ear, and he leaned into her touch. Their gazes met, his shining in the dim light. The evening had been fantastic so far. She wasn't going to let some asshole ruin it. "Come on," she urged, jutting her hip towards him. "We still have half the park to explore."</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>About a third of the way through their ride on the Mad Hatter, Amusement Mile's famous coaster, Sarah realized eating had been a mistake. A big one. Thrown to a fro in the sharp curves, she could nearly taste the bile in the throat. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, willing her nausea to pass. For his part, Arthur appeared exhilarated, laughing with every peak and valley. Seeing that happiness was a gift, one that gratified and partially distracted from her queasiness.</p><p>Fortunately, the enclosed cabins on the Ferris wheel were a respite. They waited an extra turn to board the outer wheel, which rotated at a leisurely pace and allowed her stomach to settle. The view from the top was beautiful, Gotham Cathedral's lit spires and the Westward Bridge prominent against the night sky. Wayne Tower was also visible, but she did her best to ignore the high-rise and its gaudy "W." He pointed in the direction of Burnley and said, "There's our home." She was unexpectedly moved. Then he kissed her soundly, which quickly advanced to mild necking when the wheel paused.</p><p>The carousel was antique, according to the sign. The only original attraction left in the park. A massive wooden structure with a mirrored center, it had three rows of horses, broken up by the occasional bench. He stepped onto the gray platform and picked one, painted red and yellow, roses etched along its back. But she climbed a nearby leaping horse instead, its black mane and tan body faded by years of sunlight.</p><p>He quirked a dark brow until she beckoned him with a nod. Cheeks pink, countenance tender in the lingering blinks of the incandescent bulbs, he followed suit. "Hang onto me," she instructed. As the calliope's whistles began their jaunty tune, he cupped her hips and pressed into her. A flutter tickled her stomach. She reclined against him, let her eyes fall shut as his warmth surrounded her. Round and round they went, chuckling airily. Not at any jokes or amusements, but at the joy of one another.</p><p>Arthur picked the last ride, an old mill called Romantic River Caves. She had to stop herself from snickering at the idea of a middle-aged woman and her nearly-middle-aged boyfriend cruising along in something built for teenagers. But he delighted in cliches and corniness, a preference she attributed to his inexperience and kind nature. Though such gestures hadn't thrilled her since she was a girl, she appreciated them with him.</p><p>The boats were short and narrow, just wide enough for the two of them to sit side-by-side. Curved backrests encouraged cuddling. Off-key versions of old standards played through tinny speakers. Myriad displays were inside, a mix of plaster dioramas and paintings. Two swans swimming, their beaks touching. A couple on a picnic under a tree. Bouquets and hearts galore. There were five or so seconds of darkness between each one. He took advantage of those breaks, kissing her again and again until she was breathless.</p><p>She scanned the starry painting above them, the comets' trails stretched across the tunnel's ceiling. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Twenty-five? Thirty years?"</p><p>"Me, too. I snuck in when I was a kid. To see the circus and the merry-go-round." He smoothed his hair back, pressed his legs tighter together. "When I moonlighted here, I could've gone on the rides and to the shows. I- I didn't want to alone."</p><p>He paused and she put her palm on his thigh. Gave him an encouraging squeeze. "That postcard I have?" he said. "By my desk? It was in my locker at HaHa's." His fingers covered hers, tips tracing her knuckles. "It's good to have a person to have fun with. To have you."</p><p>She beamed at that sentiment, for she felt it, too. Yes, she'd been complete on her own. No, she hadn't been lonely. But he added to her existence. Introduced her to activities and experiences she hadn't previously considered or realized she'd needed. Going to a comedy club. Dancing despite her lack of skill. Or enjoying vulnerability during quiet conversations in their bedroom rather than fearing it. He'd broadened her life in ways she was still discovering. And he regularly told her she'd bettered his. "You're my favorite ride," she said.</p><p>A sharp snort left him, followed by a bashful chuckle. He shook his head. "You're crazy."</p><p>"I didn't mean that." She batted his chest playfully. Tried to cross her legs under the safety bar. "This relationship we've started." Light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the shallow pool's grimy floor coming into view as the water level fell. Soon they'd be amongst the crowd. "Remember when I said we'd never be perfect? I like our imperfections. They fit. Like..." She contemplated. "A pen and paper. They're good on their own but they're best together." Cringing, she covered her face. "God, that didn't even make sense. A pen needs paper."</p><p>"Didn't you say you needed me?" he teased, pulling her hand from her brow to place it on his sternum. "I don't mind being your paper." Blushing, Sarah turned to him when he cupped her jaw. Ran his thumbs over her cheeks. She joined him in ignoring the attendant's instruction to disembark. Arthur kissed her, a delicate graze to her mouth before he drew her bottom lip between his. "You're the best ride, too."</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Test of Time (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah's long work hours are hard for Arthur to bear. Together, they find a way to cope.</p>
<p>This request comes from the awesome @sweet-nothings04! Thank you, girl. I appreciate it more than you know! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for previewing this and assuring me it had the right level of bawdiness. 😛</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Thursday afternoon. Sunshine brightened the living room, illuminating specks of dust in the air. The VCR was recording a movie to watch together this coming weekend. GCR was on in the background, reporting on a robbery at Gotham Savings Bank. And Arthur was frustrated with Sarah.</p>
<p>Not much about her bothered him. She asked how he was daily, let him choose what to tune into after the news (unless there was a show she just had to watch), was free with her affections in word and deed. If he was despondent, she'd give him the space or attention he needed. When she'd insist on pelting him with questions, he knew it was with the intention to help. A soft but serious, "I don't want to talk about it anymore" would get her to back off.</p>
<p>But lately, he'd barely seen her. She'd either been at court or her office preparing for hearings. Four people, including her, she'd explained, had been building a case against Ace Chemicals for months. As a result of uncovering evidence and "sticking her nose in" (as she was wont to do), she was to be a witness in the proceedings. The late nights were necessary, if unpleasant.</p>
<p>Her current job normally required less dedication than her last. Overtime had been normal there. She'd even brought files home with her. He'd accepted it, made a conscious effort to be unselfish and not ruin his chance at finally having a relationship, an escape from his isolation. But he'd never liked it. He'd wanted to spend as many hours with her as possible - a longing that hadn't changed.</p>
<p>While he understood Sarah's motivations, her determination to do what was right, it was difficult. The stint of lonely evenings was a reminder of how he used to live. He'd gone back to his old habits of smoking three packs a day, sticking frozen dinners in the oven (well, a microwave), or not eating at all.</p>
<p>By the time she would traipse through the door, she'd be exhausted. Two or three sentences would be exchanged after a quick hug and kiss, devoid of the passion and lightness he coveted. She'd snooze on the sofa, mumbling, "I'm awake" when he'd jostle her during commercial breaks. He'd have to remind her to brush her teeth and go to bed. She'd fallen asleep in her office wear more than once.</p>
<p>Shutting his eyes, he pushed smoke through his nostrils into the biting breeze. He leaned on the metal railing of the fire escape. Fidgeted with his hair, pulled at the loose strands near the top. Negative thoughts were beginning to inundate him. That she was making excuses to avoid him, that she didn't care, that she was falling out of love with him...</p>
<p>He retrieved his journal and glowered down at it. Turning the baseless notions around was supposed give him a sense of relief. He jotted what he could. "She's busy but it will get better." The attempt at excision helped minimally. But words continued to spill onto the paper, words he hadn't known were boiling in him. "If Im honest, I'm upset with her. She says it's normal and to not push it away. But I don't want to feel bad." Lips pursed as he pressed the pen harder to the paper. "We've been maried more than four years. How the hell long am I going to wunder about it? I want a refund for this shit."</p>
<p>Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Deep breaths. He counted to four on the inhale, to eight on the exhale. When he'd been angry before, the targets had often been nebulous. The cruelties of the city, the inhabitants' lack of civility, the system that pretended to know so much while abandoning him and treating him like trash. How could the person he loved effortlessly make him feel awful?</p>
<p>Wincing, he turned back a few pages, seeking solace from the plethora of good moments he'd recorded. Tangible reminders he returned to whenever he hurt. The ticket stubs he'd pasted in there from when they'd gone to see <em>Swing Time</em> a few months ago in Old Gotham. A note Sarah had sneaked into his prop bag: "Don't forget to renew your subway pass! XOXO," followed by a heart. The pale blue button that had popped off her sweater when he'd interrupted her getting dressed for work.</p>
<p>Smiling softly, he shook his head. She worked hard, too hard, to provide a nice life for them. His irritation wasn't at her but at the situation. It was temporary, fleeting. While his negative thoughts wouldn't leave him completely, she'd always be an anecdote. Not a cure but a balm. And during the few chances they'd had to converse, she'd sounded unexpectedly somber. The distance and time must have been a sacrifice for her, too. Then an idea came to him and he finished his journal entry. "I need to be with her."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Though Arthur made a point of walking past Sarah's office whenever he was in the area, he hadn't just shown up before. But he'd put on cologne, changed into one of her favorite cardigans (the blue one he'd proposed in), and his brown slacks. He was fairly confident he'd be well-received. Well, confident enough to try, anyway.</p>
<p>The clock in the hallway read ten of seven. He squeezed the handle of his paper bag and raked his hair back as he stood in front of the second floor's walnut door. A glow could be seen through the frosted glass window. When he knocked, only silence answered. Could she already be on her way back to their apartment? Had they missed each other? That wouldn't make sense - she'd been getting home past ten. He knocked again.</p>
<p>Shuffling greeted him first, followed by the scrape of a chair on the floor. The muted click-clack of Sarah's kitten heels. He bit back a laugh, trying to keep himself from ruining the surprise. "Did you forget something again, Phil?" Though the wood muffled her question, her consternation was clear. "I'm going to glue that file to your damn hand."</p>
<p>The door swung open mid-complaint. It took a few moments for her eyes, heavy with fatigue, to focus on him. The start of a smile tipped a corner of her mouth. "Arthur, hi."</p>
<p>The icy remnant of upset lodged in his heart melted as their lips met. He clasped her side. "Hi," he said, lifting the bag. "I brought dinner."</p>
<p>She wrapped her arms around his neck and boosted herself a couple of inches to match his height. "You're so thoughtful." Enthusiasm coursed through his veins when she pressed into him. "Is there enough for two?"</p>
<p>The desk she led him to was L-shaped, the right return butted against the wall. The brown nameplate's "Sarah Fleck" made it easy to identify and caused his chest to swell. His offer to assist with moving stacks of papers was declined. "If I get this shit out of order, I'll be stuck here another month." Then she spread her blazer over the surface, akin to a large placemat.</p>
<p>After grabbing a nearby chair, he sat across from her and unpacked. The pasta primavera hadn't cooled too much during the subway ride, but it had warmed the mini bottle of wine he'd grabbed at the nearby convenient store. While she got him a cup of water and rinsed her coffee mug in the break room, he surveyed the space. Its drop-ceilings did not induce a sense of romance, and the spaciousness of it couldn't be mistaken for cozy. The dim of her banker-style lamp would help the ambience, though. It would work.</p>
<p>He followed her lead, smoothing a paper napkin on his lap as she poured the merlot. He gave her a plastic fork and let her take the first bite. Her hum was pleased, and she dug in before handing him the utensil and insisting he eat. He pushed a ziti around, nibbled on a slice of carrot. "Did you have a good day?"</p>
<p>She gave a small shrug. "I've been practicing my testimony. It's scheduled for tomorrow."</p>
<p>The way she rubbed her neck clued him in to her disquiet. "You're nervous." He tore off the end of a breadstick and dunked it in the creamy sauce. "I wish I could be there in the audience. Make it easier for you."</p>
<p>Giggling, Sarah tapped his calf with her toe. "It's a gallery," she corrected. "And if you were there, your good looks would make me forget what I was doing." Light laugh hitching, his cheeks burned at the compliment. "I'll be fine," she continued. "All I can do is tell the truth."</p>
<p>He studied her. The lines at the corners of her mouth as she ate. The movements of her full lips while she told him what she expected at the hearing. The determination in her pinched brow as she proclaimed Ace was going to "pay through the nose" for their repeated safety violations. The muscles of his face slackened. Despite his earlier frustration, it struck him how proud of her he was, prouder than he had ever been of himself. Of the fortitude she had to keep trying. Of the work she did. Of her desire to improve Gotham. Even if he didn't believe the city would ever change, he believed in her.</p>
<p>But after she wiped her chin with her napkin, she looked down sheepishly and picked at her nails. "I haven't been around enough this past week or two. I know I haven't been what you needed."</p>
<p>Not wanting to lose his good mood, he waved away her comment. "That's not true."</p>
<p>She covered his hand with hers, stilling his movements. "It is. And it's all right to say that. I just..." Biting her bottom lip, she grabbed her mug. "I can't fail these people. Not again." Her sigh was shaky, her tone taking on a fragile quality, one he could recall hearing only a handful of times. "The way I did you and Ms. McPhee and everyone else." She scoffed at herself and took a long drink.</p>
<p>Standing, Arthur tossed the empty dish in the nearby trashcan. He considered a moment before perching on her side of the desk. "It's harder for me to be without you than it was to be in my old apartment." At her grimace, he realized he'd said the wrong thing. He grabbed her hand, held it between his own. "It's not easy for me when you work thirteen or fourteen hours." Tracing the band-aid on her thumb, he nodded to himself. "But that's life. I'll be there for you to come home to."</p>
<p>She entwined their fingers. "That means everything to me." Her eyelids fluttered and she lay her head on his thigh. "I put too much pressure on myself. Always have." At his caress along her jaw, she smirked. "But you're good at relieving it." A gentle kiss as she positioned herself to sit directly in front of him. Pupils dilated, her look had turned eager. "You'll be happy to hear I have two days off next week." Her palm sneaked beneath his cardigan, igniting a lick of arousal in his groin. "Then you can home to <em>me</em>."</p>
<p>Legs falling open automatically, he swallowed. "Good." When she massaged him over his dotted button-up, his stomach jerked. "That's nice." He blinked at her, taken aback by what she was initiating. She was the more adventurous of the two. Still, he had to clarify before her boldness robbed him of his common sense. "Have you done this at work before?"</p>
<p>"Never," she said, palming his growing erection through his trousers. "It'll be another first."</p>
<p>He huffed. Even though she had greater experience, she'd confided that many of her "first times" had been with him. He was the first man to accompany her to a disco. The first man who'd enticed her to go on a midnight stroll. The first man with whom she'd tried roleplaying. (A lot of the innuendo had been lost on him, and she hadn't been able to stop laughing long enough to say her lines. They'd called it off after ten minutes, in agreement it wasn't for them.)</p>
<p>Her hands went to his fly, hurriedly unzipping it to tongue his hard-on through his underwear. Though her hot mouth sent a rush through him, he tensed. "The custodian was already here. It's just us." She glanced up at him and wet her lips. "I won't open the door unless there's a fire alarm," she rasped, opening the top of her ruffled, off-white blouse. Her bra was plain, an older one she wore when she'd be gone extended periods. The cups were littered with pills, the straps fuzzy. But she'd said it was broken in. And while he adored her natural shape, the push it gave her cleavage was tantalizing.</p>
<p>Reassured and utterly turned-on, he fumbled with the buttons of his sweater. All at once, her mouth was on his abdomen, leaving moist traces as her fingers dipped beneath his waistband and freed him from the confines of his briefs. He jolted on a gasp and stared at her hand on him, its leisurely up and down caresses making him harder. The engorged tip nearly brushed the velvety skin of her breasts. Then, smiling sweetly, she lowered her head.</p>
<p>Gripping the edge of the desk, a grunt caught in his throat as she took him in halfway. He carded her hair back to see her glide her lips over him, planting a noisy kiss to the head before enveloping him once more. His fingers dug into her scalp, indicated what he needed with gentle pressure. She complied for a minute, sucking and laving at him, lewd squelching mixing in with her own low groans.</p>
<p>But she let go, a thin thread of saliva strung between her mouth and his cock. She sipped her wine, a wicked gleam in her glance. With a quick tug, she unhooked the front of her bra, exposing her pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze. Her fingertips ran across them, pinching one lightly before taking him her hand again. She curved her tongue around the underside of his shaft, flicking the tip side-to-side over the glans, leaving her lips agape.</p>
<p>The view it allowed made him thrust towards her with a sharp moan. But she playfully pushed on his hip, keeping him in place. He braced his foot on her chair, next to her bottom, anchoring himself while he tried to draw her nearer. Get her to take him in fully, to encircle him and provide the relief he craved. He was twitching in her mouth. Pearlescent arousal beaded on his crimson tip, dribbled onto her tongue...</p>
<p>Suddenly, Sarah stood and embraced him. "I need you inside me." He rubbed himself against her desperately, panting and smearing his slick on her clothing. He turned them around and gathered her skirt about her hips as she slid her panties down her legs. "Don't rush. I'm not wet enough yet."</p>
<p>When he lowered her to lay on the desk, her legs dangling over the side, she stroked his hair, his cheek, and the column of his neck. His eyes fell to her center, narrowing as the length of his erection rode her slit. The ridge bumped her hood repeatedly, eliciting a gasp. She reached between them and slid him along her labia, spreading his arousal over her and mixing it with her own. He bent and kissed her deeply, inching into her, pausing at every hitch of her breath until she told him to keep going.</p>
<p>Once he was embedded, bound with her completely, her thumbs traced his v-lines. "Fuck, you feel good," she sighed. Pecking the bottom of his chin, she reached under his shirt and sweater, fingers following the outline of his ribs and his spine. Her touch went to the small of his back as she rocked her pelvis upwards.</p>
<p>The desk was lower than his. It took a moment to get the right stance. He braced his thighs on the edge and withdrew slowly, until only the head of him remained snug within her. He pulled her closer to him, wanting to fuck her without banging into the pencil drawer.</p>
<p>Their gazes caught, hers vibrant in its joy and affection. He surged forward, relishing in how her leg went around his waist on a harsh cry. He captured her mouth, held the side of her neck. Half-grinning, he watched her brows lift and her eyelids screw shut. <em>She's so fucking beautiful.</em> Growing dizzy, he reached above them.</p>
<p>The clatter of bouncing plastic and the splashing of water halted him.</p>
<p>She grasped his flank and moved to boost herself on her elbows. "Where'd it spill?"</p>
<p>Dark blue droplets were next to her typewriter. "Um, on an inkpad." He stood on his tiptoes, squinting at the floor over her shoulder. "And the carpet?"</p>
<p>A laugh burst out of her. "Thank god. I wouldn't be able to explain why the notarized affidavits were on the radiator." Combing through his locks, she nuzzled at his cheek. Their lips brushed each other's, ragged breaths mingling. "Arthur?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>With a giggle, she pinched his dimple. "I find you guilty of being irresistible." Though he scoffed, it felt as though his pulse had halted. A quick nibble to his jaw. "Now make love to me before I lose my mind."</p>
<p>Chuckling, he murmured a quick, "Yes, ma'am" as their hips met. Dampness tickled his patch of curls. With each thrust, she became slicker, the rough friction giving way to a silky slide. A reminder of how she welcomed him into her heart and soul.</p>
<p>She whined and braced her left foot on the desk's return as his tempo increased. It changed the tilt of her pelvis, inviting him deeper, deeper, until he couldn't tell where either of them ended. <em>Fuck, fuck...</em> Whimpering, he clutched the table's lip, next to her temple, and bucked into her.</p>
<p>The urgency with which she held his shoulders caused an ache. But she was so responsive, trembling as her frame stiffened, he was numb to it, only aware of the liquid heat of her body. He barely heard her mewl, "Arth- I'm gonna come," before she keened and pressed her breasts to his chest.</p>
<p>Her encompassing throb stunned him. One of them usually needed to touch her clit to undo her. Conceit stirred within him and he kissed her, hard enough to feel her teeth. His palm went to the swell of her ass and lifted her, just an inch or two. She clung to him and splayed herself wider in response to the demand of his uneven movements.</p>
<p>Amorous hissing matched his groans. The delicious pressure in his groin started to spike. Pushing himself onto his toes, his hips locked with hers as his climax lanced through him. On a harsh grunt, he poured his essence into her, pulsed until he was empty. He let his head drop next to hers, forcing air into his lungs.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, he was oblivious to the expanse of her office. To the tawdriness of the tryst they'd just had on her desk. All he could sense was the way they were connected and how she hugged him. Like he meant the world to her.</p>
<p>With a supple, lingering kiss, he confirmed she'd always be everything to him.</p>
<p>She wriggled, pressed gently on his chest. "Can you carry me to the train?"</p>
<p>Drenched in sweat, he realized he should have thrown his cardigan to the floor. He swiped his curls back. "You got off easy," he chuckled, enjoying the double-entendre. Straightening, he brought her with him. "I was the one standing the whole time."</p>
<p>The grip of her thighs loosened as she ran her hands down his torso, then grabbed a nearby tissue to wipe him off. "That's a fair point."</p>
<p>After Sarah tucked him back into his briefs and buttoned his trousers, smiling against his mouth the entire time, she headed to the bathroom to freshen up. When she returned, he noticed a faint, white stain on her skirt, and another on the bottom of her blazer. He flushed profusely - they should have been more careful. He helped her into his tan jacket, adjusting the bottom until he was satisfied the spot was hidden. A strategically held purse was her solution to the skirt problem.</p>
<p>Arthur wiped the spilled water from the desk and finished the wine in her mug. Carefully, she packed her court bag and slung it over her shoulder. As he was about to retrieve the fallen plastic cup, she stopped him with a palm on his bicep. "Leave it," she said, beaming at him. "I want to remember this tomorrow."</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Bewitching Hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>October has been a blissfully busy month. With Halloween around the corner, Arthur and Sarah have some planning to do.</p>
<p>A/N: Special thanks to @hhandley80 for this request! You've been so supportive and sweet. I truly appreciate you and hope you enjoy it!</p>
<p>On a side note, my oneshots will be more sporadic. I'm still writing but life has been life. Also, I've finished the first draft of another multi-chapter featuring Arthur and Sarah. It's going to take time to rewrite the subsequent drafts and edit, edit, edit. The chapters will go up once the story is ready. Thanks for your patience and support! 🙂 I heart you all!</p>
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    <p>Arthur's suggestion that they make plans to celebrate Halloween should not have been a surprise. He loved starting traditions with Sarah, and she prized adopting them with him. "It's been awhile," he'd said as they'd walked arm-in-arm to the laundromat. "I think it'd be nice."</p>
<p>Holidays had been a source of merriment most of her life. The beauty of red and green decorations at Christmas. Turkey and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. An egg hunt and chocolate rabbit at Easter. The togetherness of family during them all.</p>
<p>Halloween, though, wasn't a favorite.</p>
<p>As a child, she'd had fun trick-or-treating, riding her bike from house to far-flung house. And she hadn't minded escorting her little sister as a teenager. Sarah's homemade witch costume had been passed down. She could still recall the sleekness of the ribbon between her fingers as she'd secured the pointed hat under Mabel's chin.</p>
<p>But the magic had fallen away. When married to Jeff, she'd had to attend his boss's annual party. After receiving an apologetic shrug and kiss, she'd be relegated to hanging out with the other wives. They'd included her in their recipe swaps, in their exchanges of mild gossip. Her natural friendliness made chit-chat easy, far easier than having a good time. Those evenings had been spent nursing a glass of wine and willing the clock to go faster.</p>
<p>During the period she'd cared for her father, she'd tried to hand out candy. She liked being a good neighbor and imparting kindness in the form of bite-sized sweets. As his health had declined, the porch light had gone dark. Random rings of the doorbell would result in shouting and swearing. Repeated attempts to explain the door's lock wasn't broken. Festivity would transform into drudgery. It hadn't been worth the trouble. Instead, she'd watched terrible TV specials while her thoughts wandered to a future far from Boonville. A future she'd doubted would ever be.</p>
<p>"I don't know if it's your thing," Arthur had continued, bringing her back to the present. "But you might enjoy it with me." The response he longed for was evident in the worrying of his pocket, outlines of his knuckles visible through the tan cloth.</p>
<p>Everything they'd experienced together had soothed the sting of those wasted years. The hesitancy lurking in her was silly. Unwelcome. Less than either of them deserved. She'd met his keen eyes and half-smile. The sudden mental image of him dressed as a cowboy or pirate, eyepatch and all, prompted a laugh. Convinced her as she dug out her dry-cleaning stub. "It isn't my thing," she'd said. "But you are."</p>
<p>Relief had relaxed his wrinkles, save for his crows feet, which had deepened as he'd returned her happy expression. A slender arm wrapped around her waist, drew her against his solid frame. Once the clerk disappeared through the swinging doors to retrieve their clothes, Arthur grasped her chin and kissed her. The tender explorations were soon sloppy, and she'd giggled, his enthusiasm becoming her own. Their noses had met, his lashes resting on his wide cheekbones. "I think you're the sweetest treat, Mrs. Fleck."</p>
<p>Currently, Donahue's Department Store, Gotham's number one retail emporium (if the ads were to be believed), was bustling with last-minute shoppers. Weary mothers escorted their babbling children through the aisles. Clerks swapped out displays for the changing blue light specials. Lines went for yards. Patricia and Sarah sought refuge at a corner table in the café on the top floor. The warm glow from the pendant lamps provided a relaxed ambience, one that matched the hot cider and pumpkin spice cake they were savoring.</p>
<p>"I've got my grandson on Sunday," Patricia said between bites. "My daughter's going to a party with a medical records tech from Gotham General. Met him when she missed the bus. They split a cab and hit it off." Chuckling, she lifted her mug. "Speaking of, how's married life been so far?"</p>
<p>Memories of the past week quickened Sarah's heart, until she thought it might stop. How Arthur had gripped her replacement Social Security card, just to read her new name. The way he'd grab her for a twirl whenever they were in the kitchen. The reverence in his gaze when they'd lay together after sex, a look that both thrilled and made her blush. "The bills for his medication and appointments will no longer make us cringe," she deadpanned. She lowered her fork. "When we met, I was kind of blindsided - I'm not the type to fall in love quickly." The corners of her lips tugged up. "Being married to Arthur feels like a habit. A habit I should have learned twenty years ago."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you found each other." Patricia reached across the light brown table and covered Sarah's hand, gave it a squeeze. Then she wiped frosting from her mouth and nodded in the direction of the escalator. "Now let's find a costume that'll drive him nuts."</p>
<p>Beyond the colorful cosmetics and pungent perfume counters, they sorted through racks of vinyl smocks and plastic masks. Pop culture icons and princesses. Vampires and spooks. Knockoffs of classic movie monsters. Most were poorly made and decidedly uninteresting. Sarah pawed through accessories in a nearby basket, a cigar here, a patched hat there. "How about a hobo? I could steal Arthur's tie."</p>
<p>"This was his idea. Give him something a little exciting." After a roll of Sarah's eyes, Patricia held out a plastic display bag. "Found it."</p>
<p>The white font on its blue label declared she should "Create a unique look!" A woman in a leopard-print leotard and bow-tie wore black cat ears and a tail, the only two items included in the set. Sarah's nose wrinkled. "I don't think so, Patricia." She rummaged through another bin and examined a hockey mask. "I don't show a lot of skin."</p>
<p>"You show Arthur." Patricia ignored Sarah's glare, continuing to shove it at her. "Every man loves a woman dressed as a cat. Our next lunch is on me if I'm wrong."</p>
<p>Patricia could be relentless, but Sarah had to admit she was usually right. She arched a brow as she eyed the costume. Maybe she could find a solid body suit instead of animal print. The kit was only $2.98. And her friend had made it a challenge. "You're on. But I'm not wearing a bow-tie." She crossed her arms across her chest and tapped her mouth. "Your turn. Would Robert like you as a French maid or a go-go dancer?"</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>It was a busy season for performers. Arthur remembered HaHa's talent agency being booked solid for October by the end of August. Myriad functions at nursing homes, parties, and children's organizations took place throughout the city. Amusement Mile had a series of special events, allowing Arthur to work extra hours before the slowness of winter dragged in. Once the holiday was over, he'd buy make-up and props on clearance.</p>
<p>He'd always assumed he would like Halloween - if he'd had the chance to celebrate it properly. It was about connection, something he'd never managed. The customs gave him a pretense, a template to meet people, rather than leaving him wondering how to go about it. Provided a hiding place for his seeming inability to act normal.</p>
<p>Recollections of the day were few but vivid. When he'd been around eight, there'd been a party at school. The teacher had made brownies and given the students a half-hour respite from lessons. (A welcome relief, since he wasn't very good at most of them.) But he hadn't had a costume. Hadn't known how to reply when the other kids asked where it was. Not wanting to be left out, he'd pocketed a watercolor pallet and sneaked to the bathroom.</p>
<p>The teacher (he wished he could remember her name) had walked in as he'd smeared green and blue on his face, a pathetic attempt at a turtle. Fear of punishment had caused his laughter. But her kindness as she knelt, wiped away tears and pigment with a scratchy, brown paper towel, had calmed him. "Wait here," she'd instructed. It had taken all his courage not to run home.</p>
<p>After some minutes, she'd returned, an old white sheet in one hand, black marker and pair of scissors in the other. "The nurse won't miss this." She'd traced eyeholes, helped him cut them out. She'd asked questions. About his mother and what it was like at home. Questions he was at a loss for how to answer. Finally, she'd draped the cloth over his head. "There," she'd declared. "Gotham Elementary has its own ghost."</p>
<p>Even as he'd gotten taller and the sheet no longer went beyond his knees, that costume had remained his go-to. He'd venture out to the rest of his building, knocking on paint-chipped doors and pushing broken buzzers. Having learned to stay away from doors that yelling or funny smells emanated from, he hadn't gotten a lot of candy. What he had collected he'd shared with Penny. The wax lips became a free toy. He wasn't sure his memory of startling his mother and being tickled until he couldn't breathe was real or imagined.</p>
<p>At twelve, he was told he was too old to go trick-or-treating. He'd starting scrounging for change to buy hard candies at Helm's Pharmacy. They weren't particularly appetizing, but they'd been what he could afford. Only a few kids rang, a number that dwindled further every year. Most neighbors kept their distance, likely aware he was troubled. Cinnamon discs and butterscotch drops had loitered around the apartment for months. He'd sucked on them in an attempt to cut down on his smoking, just to save money. It hadn't worked.</p>
<p>Sarah hadn't spoken about the holiday, not the way she had other special occasions. At first, he'd thought it had slipped her mind. Work, planning their honeymoon, completing the red tape required to meld all aspects of their lives had taken up much of their time. But, given her reluctance to talk in detail about her past heartache, he'd come to assume her Halloweens had been unpleasant. He was certain he could change that.</p>
<p>Sitting on the dingy, dark green plastic seat of the train car, he giggled to himself, chest puffing up as he straightened. They'd been man and wife for eight whole days. Movies and songs said love was supposed to be somewhere between serendipitous and fated. A happy accident that was meant to be. Lying awake at night, he would find himself wondering where they were on that scale. If the emotions swirling through him - the excitement of belonging, the fear of fucking up - were what every newlywed felt. Then Sarah would snuggle closer in her sleep, murmur nonsense into his skin, and for a few minutes he'd be at peace.</p>
<p>Years had been spent trying to figure out who he was. Trying to find an identity, his role within the world. While he was still searching, it had been far easier to become accustomed to the role of "husband" than he'd dreamed.</p>
<p>Teaching his wife about events across the city had been a delight. Gotham Village's Annual Costume Extravaganza was a parade that went all the way to Gotham Square. He'd participated a couple of times, never formally registering but slipping into the clown section. It had been exhilarating. Had allowed him to pretend, for a little while, that he was being seen. That the crowds lining the sidewalks were cheering for <em>him</em>. Signs for extravagant balls were plastered on billboards and lampposts throughout the streets; he'd have gladly attended and shown her off. A haunted house was being held in a building in his old neighborhood, a fundraiser for the orphanage. He hadn't brought that up.</p>
<p>In the end, once he'd explained trick-or-treaters went from apartment to apartment, they'd decided on a cozy evening at home. The details had been left to her. Whatever she'd plan, he'd love it. He wondered what she'd disguise herself as. Would she be a sexy devil or nurse, like he'd seen on a sit-com? The notion sparked a fire in his cheeks.</p>
<p>Given how busy he'd be, he'd stay dressed as plain, old Carnival. Part of him regretted accepting two gigs, especially on a Sunday. He would have preferred her company. But he wanted to put the money towards the wedding band he'd put on layaway. (Even though they had one account, he wasn't going to let her chip in for it.) He should already be wearing it for all of Gotham to see.</p>
<p>The lurch of the subway prompted him to rise and grasp the pole grip. His stance widened as it came to a halt, knees bending with the instinct of a man who'd ridden public transportation since he was a boy. As soon as the graffiti-covered doors parted, he stepped out onto the platform and ascended the stairs, eager to share his new insurance information with Dr. Ludlow.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Scratchy violins and the hum of a theremin. Shrill shrieks and cracks of thunder. A cackle resounded, then a pipe organ, playing a melody in a minor key.</p>
<p>There was no doubt about it. Halloween spirit had saturated 4A.</p>
<p>NCB's Movie Marathon Mayhem had begun at 10:00 AM. Sarah had had it on since getting out of the shower, hoping to catch a horror classic while she decorated the apartment and prepared Bloody Mary mix. As she hung cotton batting between the television's rabbit ears, creating a long, narrow spider-web, she realized they were only playing cheesy B-movies. Giant insects threatening buildings. Science experiments gone wrong. Alien invasions. Oh well. At least she wouldn't have to pay much attention to get the gist of the plots.</p>
<p>The orange plastic platter, black bats along its edges, had been an impulse buy. She thought its array of sugary skeletons, candy bracelets, and Jolly Jack chocolate bars would be well received. But having seen only one or two kids in the lobby, she had no idea how many children lived in their building. She hoped she'd bought enough.</p>
<p>The cardstock window decorations she'd found were festive and matched Arthur's sweet nature. One portrayed a warted, green witch flying on a broom past a full moon. On the other, a ghost and mouse shared a pillowcase of candy and wished a "Happy Halloween." She held the tape dispenser between her teeth as she stuck them to their white front door.</p>
<p>Just then, the elevator dinged. Glancing to her left, she saw Arthur stroll down the cheerfully lit hallway. Buoyant expression on him, despite his white, blue, and red make-up being streaked from sweat. Striped prop bag on his shoulder and carved pumpkin cradled in his arms. "The store owner was going to throw it out," he explained with a half hug. "But he let me have it as a tip."</p>
<p>Classic, triangular eyes evoked the annual carving contest her parents had taken part of back home. Her father had been well-known in the community, being the town's only doctor. Entering the competition had been expected. They'd never won but enjoyed it all the same. Sarah had picked out the patterns and scooped out the squash's slimy innards. Her mother had baked the seeds. Peals of their laughter echoed in her ears, and a lump formed in her throat.</p>
<p>She swallowed hard against it. <em>Dammit, Sarah. Get it together.</em> This was supposed to be a special night for Arthur and her. She needed to distract herself. One of his curls peeked out from under his bald-cap and green wig. She twirled a strand around her finger. "With that toothy grin, it just might be your twin," she said. He pecked her temple, the kiss sticky from greasepaint. She lit the half-melted candles using his red lighter and put the jack-o-lantern just outside their door.</p>
<p>While he freshened his paint in the bedroom, she slinked into the bathroom to change. Arthur's and her routines were closely aligned; keeping her costume hidden had not been easy. The headband holding the furry cat ears was quite stiff, its teeth a tad sharp on her scalp. Once it was in place, she hid it under her hair. The lint on her form-fitting stretch top and leggings reminded her why she rarely wore all black. She retrieved her brown eyeliner from the nearby shelf and started in on her whiskers.</p>
<p>Arthur's footsteps neared, heavy due to his clown shoes, and Sarah turned to lean back on the sink. His thin lips parted as he scanned her body, forehead furrowed in pleasant surprise. His reaction planted a seed of bliss in her belly, one that bloomed every second they regarded each other. The lunch she'd have to spring for was well worth the pink shells of his ears. Eventually, she held out the fluffy, wired tail and a safety pin. "Would you pin this just below my waistband?"</p>
<p>Fingers grazing hers, he took it and sat on the toilet lid. He cupped her hips and pulled her closer, positioned her until the dampness of his breath hit a bare sliver of her back. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice sending a tingle through her. At his gentle ministrations, the spandex of her leggings felt snugger. "Did you- Did you read my journal?"</p>
<p>A faint click of metal as the pin closed. "No." She colored the tip of her nose, frowned at how lackluster the shade was. "I'd never do that. Even if I'm dying for a preview of your material. Why?"</p>
<p>"No reason." A soft huff, his shy smile clear in his answer. "I have an idea." He handed her a washcloth and hurried out of the room. She was patting her face dry when he returned, a fine tipped brush and pot of black greasepaint in his hand. "This'll look better."</p>
<p>Her brow arched. She'd only had her make-up done once; Patricia had invited her when they'd first met. Such an outing was not her preference, but Sarah had accepted, being new in town and wanting to learn about her colleague. There'd been champagne at the counter, which she'd sipped until she'd spent too much on eyeshadow and apricot scrub. The next morning, she'd put the products and a note on Patricia's desk: "I'll never forgive you. Thanks!"</p>
<p>The heat radiating from Arthur prompted her to close the gap between them. She craned her neck towards him, slid her palms to his yellow vest until she held him just below his ribs. His forefinger curled under her chin, lifted it slightly and angled it to the right. The cool, wet brush met her fevered skin. The dusty smell of the greasepaint blended with a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and traces of his sweat. She licked her lips.</p>
<p>The vibration of his chuckle was felt before heard. "I really like your costume," he said lowly. Two more ticklish caresses of the bristles on the apple of her cheek. "If you're not careful, I might werewolf and go wild."</p>
<p>She stretched closer to him, the fervor in his tone going straight to her center. Though he'd been growing bolder, his cocky side wasn't often revealed. She wanted it, thirsted to see more of the wild horse kicking inside him. Her touch ran over his chest, until she dipped under his black suspenders and pulled. "Are you going to gobble me up?"</p>
<p>Teasing strokes on her nose. "Maybe." Then his thumb whispered along her jaw and guided her face upwards. His kiss was supple, slow, a drag of his mouth as his tongue sought entry. She yielded, the simmer of anticipation bringing her to her toes. He groaned deeply and palmed her thigh, then fondled the curve of her rear-</p>
<p>The ding-dong of the doorbell halted them. He lifted his head and laughed, gaze sparkling. "I got paint on you."</p>
<p>She twisted in his arms and looked in the mirror. The whiskers caught her eye, embellished at the ends with dainty curlicues - his skill never ceased to impress her. Red brightened her lips and streaks of white were on her cheek. "It's all right. They'll just know I've been necking with a clown."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The sound of the bell continued. Over and over and over. More than it ever had in Otisburg. There were mummies, ghosts, a couple of skeletons. A superhero proudly displayed his red cape and blue tights, and a kid in her karate robe went on about her yellow belt. A tiny clown, too young to walk, was brought by her sister. As Arthur made funny faces, the baby cooed and tried to take his red, foam nose. Arthur parted with it gladly.</p>
<p>Only one member of the Wayne family appeared, slicked back hair and pompous pout making the disguise complete. The man accompanying the boy introduced himself as their upstairs neighbor and shook their hands. After one look at Sarah, he nudged Arthur's bicep. "So, she's the one keeping half the building up at night. Good on you, pal." Arthur blinked in confusion as she ushered the guy away, red-faced and muttering about his nerve.</p>
<p>Arthur was overly generous, giving out fistfuls of sweets while taking a few extra seconds to gather his nerves and compliment the costumes he liked best. It felt good to interact with strangers without constantly second guessing himself. Sarah would rub his arm or kiss his shoulder and tell him what a great job he was doing. "Kids are easy," he said, refilling the candy dish. But he reveled in her praises, anyway. And the knowledge that meeting the neighbors was going well.</p>
<p>Clean-up required little effort. The jack-o-lantern sat on their kitchen table, flames flickering as the wicks burned away. The door decor was packed safely for use next year. His plaid blazer was slung over the back of a dining chair and his wig was off. Sarah's decision to leave her whiskers on pleased him - she made a damn sexy cat. He pocketed the last few pieces of candy to snack on during the remainder of the evening.</p>
<p>The Sunday Night Special Presentation she'd picked out, a made-for-TV horror movie, began at 9:00 PM on GBC. Most of its airtime was punctuated by her tipsy snickers and legal wisecracks, which was typical when they watched something stupid. Yet, as the show went on, she grew quieter, barely speaking between sips of her third cocktail. As they sat on the sofa, her posture stiffened. Forearms crossed over her breasts. Her nails dug into her upper arm.</p>
<p>The change started two-thirds of the way into the show, when the plot about a doll running amok twisted into a story about a professional woman trying to assert herself against the demands of her mother. Against the expectations of availability. To fight for the simplicity of having dinner and peace and quiet. It resonated with him, which felt weird. Especially when the film cut to black, the implication being the mother would meet a violent end at the hands of her possessed daughter.</p>
<p>A cheerful jingle came on. Puerto Rico was a direct flight from Gotham Airport, it advertised, a flight that lasted "two hours and fifteen tropical minutes." They should get out while the weather was still good. The juxtaposition of mood broke him out of his ponderings. He flicked off the blaring television with the remote. Then he heard Sarah sniffling.</p>
<p>She set her glass on the coffee table, a slight tremble in her hand. "I need some air," she whispered as she rose, then went out onto the fire escape.</p>
<p>Arthur rubbed his thigh and pressed his lips together. He wasn't used to seeing her cry. Not from sadness. Should he follow her? Give her time? Both had worked previously, depending on the situation. But he wasn't sure what had upset her, what situation they were in now.</p>
<p>Exhaling sharply, he grabbed her glass and dumped the rest of the drink down the kitchen sink. Rinsed their dinner plates and put the slow cooker in the fridge. When he'd finished making decaf coffee ten minutes later, she still hadn't returned. He ambled towards the ajar glass door and stepped out.</p>
<p>Moonlight outlined her shapely figure and reflected off her hair, the silver a contrast to the orange glow of the streetlamps illuminating her face. Her stare seemed fixated on the street below. He followed it to see a group of ghouls and goblins spraying shaving cream on a shop window. A couple, one he'd see occasionally when out for a cigarette, walked down the sidewalk. A woman was half-carrying a drunk man towards a bus stop.</p>
<p>Upon clearing her throat, Sarah spoke. "I may not look like it, but I had a great time with you tonight. The movie just got to me." Relieved, Arthur sidled next to her, wrapped his arm about her back.  Her head fell to his shoulder and she smoothed her hand over his stomach. "I don't mean to hide from you. Someday you'll know the details of my earlier life." She scoffed. "When I'm ready to think about them." He entwined their fingers and kissed her hairline, avoiding the wired tips of her cat ears.</p>
<p>Shivering, she took a shaky breath. "There are no skeletons in my closet. Only disappointments." Her voice cracked as she beamed at him, cupped his cheek, and pressed her face to his. "Knowing I'd get to have you would have made those years so much easier."</p>
<p>He held her tightly, massaging between her shoulders. She'd been speaking about herself, but he couldn't help thinking it was about him, too. His years with Penny. His stints in Arkham. The loneliness, the isolation, the endless anger and yearning to be more than a speck of dirt no one cared for. His journal was full of questions about where the hell his one and only was. If he'd known she'd be real, tangible instead of a figment, would existence have hurt less?</p>
<p>Wincing, he tried to push through those thoughts. To focus on her instead of himself. What mattered was that Sarah needed him. Perhaps a joke would cheer her. "I was thinking the other night of how easy it is to smile around you," he said. "You tickle my funny bone." Amusement bubbled in her throat, music to his ears. She released a contented sigh and nuzzled the crook of his neck.</p>
<p>Peaceful stillness ensued as the minutes passed. Though the breeze was chill, goosebumps forming on his pale skin, her affection kept his heart warm. His fingertips rubbed circles into her lower back, and she offered a pleasured hum. Across the way, footsteps pounded. He glanced to see a kid darting up the street, plastic pumpkin pail in tow. The boy's scream was filled with boundless energy: "Happy Halloween, Gotham!"</p>
<p>Snorting, Sarah took Arthur's hand and led him inside. The cheap tail she wore bounced with every exaggerated swivel of her hips. "I've behaved all evening, which your werewolf comment made extraordinarily difficult." She looped her arms around him and flashed a come-hither stare. "May I have a goodie?"</p>
<p>The scrape of her nails on his scalp coiled a knot in his abdomen. "Aren't you supposed to say 'trick-or-treat?'" he asked huskily.</p>
<p>"Your pussycat needs a petting or two." She closed the bedroom door behind them. "Maybe even a mauling."</p>
<p>His brows shot up on a hitched giggle. Then he palmed her hip while she started in on his buttons. Before she got too far, he traced a whisker with the pad of his thumb. Let their foreheads meet and pecked her eyelids. "Only if you give me something good to eat." He pressed into her, his enjoyment relentless, not waiting for her reply before devouring her mouth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur is heartened to have Sarah back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.</p>
<p>A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter, she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective. </p>
<p>A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. <em>She came back,</em> his mind affirmed. <em>She came back.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.</em>
</p>
<p>Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Sarah's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...</p>
<p>His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"</p>
<p>Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.</p>
<p>The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?</p>
<p>Was she going to abandon him again?</p>
<p>He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Sarah had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.</p>
<p>But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"</p>
<p>"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Sarah off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."</p>
<p>"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.</p>
<p>"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."</p>
<p>Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Sarah on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.</p>
<p>His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.</p>
<p>The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."</p>
<p>The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.</p>
<p>Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"</p>
<p>She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."</p>
<p>"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.</p>
<p>"Of course not. That's not what I said."</p>
<p>He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.</p>
<p>"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."</p>
<p>Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."</p>
<p>Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of <em>TV Guide,</em> and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.</p>
<p>At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.</p>
<p>It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.</p>
<p>He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Sarah's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."</p>
<p>Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."</p>
<p>"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.</p>
<p>Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."</p>
<p>"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.</p>
<p>He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."</p>
<p>Sarah cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.</p>
<p>"Thanks," Sarah said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.</p>
<p>Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.</p>
<p>When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"</p>
<p>"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.</p>
<p>She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"</p>
<p>"Making sure you're really here."</p>
<p>It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, <em>Loving Someone with...</em> had advised her to carry-on as always.</p>
<p>Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"</p>
<p>"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."</p>
<p>She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.</p>
<p>"Sarah?" he breathed into her mouth.</p>
<p>Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"</p>
<p>His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.</p>
<p>In her apparent rush to get to him, Sarah hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.</p>
<p>As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."</p>
<p>"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."</p>
<p>Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.</p>
<p>She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"</p>
<p>He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.</p>
<p>After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Sarah rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."</p>
<p>The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.</p>
<p>But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.</p>
<p>She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. <em>Shall We Dance</em> is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."</p>
<p>The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves</p>
<p>"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."</p>
<p>He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."</p>
<p>"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."</p>
<p>Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.</p>
<p>Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."</p>
<p>He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.</p>
<p>He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.</p>
<p>She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"</p>
<p>"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.</p>
<p>Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."</p>
<p>At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Twelve O'Clock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gotham's supposedly finding its way. Whatever her skepticism, Sarah and Arthur resolve to enjoy New Year's Eve.</p><p>A/N: This was a request from the funny, sweet @hhandley80. Thank you! You're a doll and I hope you enjoy it! </p><p>If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment or feel free to message me. You can send me your requests over on my Tumblr, C.M. Scott, or here. Just drop me a line and I'll do my best.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lead-up to the new year was supposed to be for closure and renewal. Bookstore displays offered advice on how to leave behind the past and embrace the future, strategies for self-examination and improvement. But Sarah didn't share the optimism that had filtered into the steady tones of news anchors, radio DJs, even pundits during her morning commute. The headline before her explained why: On January 1st, 1983 Thomas Wayne would be sworn into office. A new mayor for a "kinder, gentler Gotham."</p><p>Though he wasn't interested in politics, Arthur had mentioned his mother's belief that Wayne was the only one who could save the city. Unfortunately, the majority agreed. Underestimating the power of the candidate's family name had been a rookie mistake. While Wayne losing the election would've been a longshot, his landslide win disappointed Sarah. He was a billionaire with only a superficial understanding of the "worthy poor's" struggles. He routinely dismissed those who weren't angels as "fools." Cheap platitudes were on offer instead of decisive plans. </p><p>She sucked in a breath and tried to hold onto hope. It was plausible he wouldn't make last year's budget cuts permanent. That he'd stop City Hall's continued fights with the municipal workers' union. That he wouldn't raise fees for everyone to avoid a tax increase on the wealthy, on his friends, on himself. Maybe ninety-seven percent of the population would have to tend scrapes rather than lacerations.</p><p>The click of the front door interrupted her reading. She pushed herself to stand and dropped the afternoon daily on the dining nook's table. Went to the sink to rinse remnants of coffee and her frustration away. </p><p>"Look what I got," Arthur said, sounding like a boy with a secret to spill. Once he was at her side, he jutted his hip against the counter and presented a paper bag.</p><p>She grabbed a dishtowel and took a gander. The noisemaker and confetti quirked her lips. "You must have a wild night planned."</p><p>"I do," he chuckled. Giving a gentle squeeze, he cupped the nape of her neck. "Is your headache better? Are you up to going?"</p><p>Since receiving tickets to A Night with Gershwin, his green eyes gleamed a bit brighter. He'd mused on what the orchestra would play, if he would know all the songs, if she would know any. He'd even trimmed his chestnut curls, a feat she'd watched with admiration. He'd looked forward to tonight for five weeks. She wasn't about to sulk her way through it. "The chance to show off the most handsome man in town?" She tossed the towel over her shoulder and pecked his toothy smile. "There's no way I'd miss it." </p><p>The last time she'd fussed with her hair must have been 1969, when she'd had her first date after her divorce. Normally, she blow-dried it and created light waves with a round brush. Now she used a roller and pin curls to create a little height at her crown and gathered the top layer to pin it back. Her remaining locks framed her face at her temples, falling to her shoulders with a slight curl at the ends. Pretty but uncomplicated, understated in a way that was just her style (if a tad out-of-date). A good match for her natural make-up and Arthur's favorite plum pink lipstick.</p><p>When she'd attended the Wayne Gala last November, the tulle of her dark blue gown had been absurdly itchy. The bloomer slip she currently wore did not provide much relief. And she still found the eye-catching effects of the sequined bustline tacky. But Arthur had requested to see her in the dress more than once, so she gladly donned it for him. </p><p>While he finished primping and preening in the bedroom, she regarded the Christmas tree, situated near the wall by the sofa. Brown needles littered the floor despite their attempts to keep it well-watered. Multi-color lights blinked at varying intervals, reflected on the tinseled garland. He'd picked the shining, eight-pointed star tree-topper from the sale bin at the pharmacy. She'd snapped a rare photo as he'd stretched to put it in place.</p><p>Then he'd handed her a small, wrapped box and insisted she open it, even though it was early. He'd held his breath, his palm on his abdomen as she'd peeled back the paper to reveal a green, glass bulb. The snow fields and pine trees of its pastoral scene could have come from an old postcard. A horse pulled a couple in a red, open sleigh through the snowdrifts. Along the bottom, "First Christmas as Mister &amp; Misses 1982" was printed in fine script. She'd immediately hung it on the highest bough. It had been a lovely holiday. </p><p>He'd taped cards from friends and family to the wall around their calendar. Penny's had been a surprise. A mishmash of festive magazine cutouts pasted onto a piece of cardstock, it was the obvious product of a group activity. He hadn't given it more than a glance. It hadn't joined his display of Christmas cheer.</p><p>When Sarah called to check on her, the staff said she was vacant but stable. Not much different from the one time they'd met. After consulting Arthur, she'd sent a card back with a color photocopy of the cheesy picture from their honeymoon. Though Penny seemed in a far-off world, Sarah hoped she'd be able to see how happy her son was, an adjective instead of a nickname. How he spread joy and laughter to her.</p><p>"Wow..." Arthur's awestruck exclamation from the bedroom doorway prompted her to turn with a bright look. </p><p>Heat bloomed in her abdomen as he approached. She couldn't stop herself from appreciating how his red, three-piece suit accentuated his lean physique, lengthened the lines of his legs, highlighted the narrowness of his hips. "Same to you," she purred, straightening his gold and rust tie. In her periphery, he fidgeted with the topstitching of his jacket's pocket. "You're as jittery as a boy asking me to the prom. I accept, by the way."</p><p>That prompted a grin. "You just- I think you're beautiful." He moistened his lips and ran his hand down her upper leg, slipped his fingertips beneath the seam of the gown's mid-thigh slit. "I can't believe you're mine."</p><p>Their gazes met, at the same level due to her navy-blue pumps. "Like I'd let you get away." The flutter in her stomach accelerated with each passing second, each mingled breath. "Let's go." She slowly moved towards the kitchen to grab her clutch purse, needing to get them out of the house before she wound up on her back. "We have a train to catch."</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Cowther's Middle School's Spring Revue was the last musical performance that had welcomed Arthur. He'd never had the money to learn an instrument, besides pathetic attempts at a recorder, harmonica, and toy ukulele. But the concerts had been complimentary respites from Penny's unstable moods. The troubles he hadn't yet known were signs of his developing afflictions. </p><p>When he could summon the will to go out after a long, trying day, there'd been the occasional roped-off bandstand or public house. He'd rarely had enough money for admission or to order more than tap water. Cigarettes and keeping the heat on had been priority. He'd loitered outside as the tunes tickled his nerves and washed over the audience, convinced the experience would have united them all - if anyone had bothered to notice he was there.</p><p>A concert hall was something else. Wayne Hall was something else. He'd been here last November, anxious and excited at the prospect of meeting the father he'd always missed. After insults, a laugh attack, and a punch to the nose, he'd been thrown out like last week's garbage. He closed his eyes and counted to five to push the memory away, letting Sarah guide him through the crowd to find their place in line. Followed the fine bone in the back of her hand before clutching it in a white-knuckle grip. </p><p>She pressed into him as they shuffled forward, rested her chin on his shoulder. "Are we good?"</p><p>Though he'd admitted the "Thomas" discussed in Penny's psychiatric interview was Mr. Wayne, he'd never confided to Sarah about that night. He pondered on a safe answer. "Um, I just don't want to see him." He flinched at his own pitifulness. Christ. He couldn't even bring himself to spit out the man's name.</p><p>"Patricia's stuck attending a Wayne Foundation function with Matt. Another celebration of the asshole's election win. I'm sure he's there." She put a hand on her chest, derision heavy in every gesture. "This is Gotham Pops, not the Gotham Symphony. Too mundane for the likes of him." A soft chuckle as her lips brushed his earlobe, tightening him up in another manner. "It'll just be you and me and the city's other clowns." </p><p>The ticket taker wore the same red and gold uniform Arthur had disguised himself in, as did the person at the coat check, and the usher who showed them to their seats. Row O3, seats 212 and 213. Fifteen feet from the stage and smack in the center. The opulence of the room distracted him, much as it had the first time. His leg bounced stubbornly. The luxury of the velvet red cushions. Ornate scrollwork on the mezzanine and columns, stretching to the painted ceiling. Enormous crystal chandeliers. How could he have ever thought he belonged here? And how tedious were those to clean?</p><p>A clarinet's crescendo to a high note pierced the air, followed by the rising of the orchestra. Arthur sat at attention, tried to observe each section as it played. The tempo of the piece started swiftly, a rapid rhythm that gradually diminished to a calming, steady beat. Each strike to the timpani reverberated in his bones, the jaunty melody of the piano line tickled his ears, and the rich timbre of French horns and violins swelled along with his breast. It was a living thing, this music. An organism that slithered along his spine to uplift every cell. </p><p>He blinked at Sarah's caress to the lines of his palm. Gave her side-eye when her flirty smirk diverted his attention from the show. She pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. "You're gorgeous, Arthur." His breath caught at the graze of her fingertips along the tendon of his wrist, his thin lips parting. "I'm lucky to be the woman at your side." </p><p>Booming, invigorating, the score continued, resonating throughout the cavernous auditorium. Suddenly, he was standing, enfolding their fingers as he drew Sarah from her seat. With a sly grin she followed him up the stairs, up on stage, and curtsied in reply to his bow. She took his hand without hesitation and arched into him. He dipped her until her weight rested on his arms, blessedly true. God, she looked like a starlet with her fancy hair and that dress hugging her curves. Did her colleagues have any idea what kind of woman hid beneath her professional demeanor? Or was it a secret kept just for him? </p><p>The majors soared and the minors dove, as if a tribute to his varied dispositions. They twirled across the stage, graceful and perfectly in step with the cadence and each other. Every fluid movement affirmed his belief that she was his one and only. That he'd always possess the memory of the way she held her chopsticks. How her smile simply beamed. That after sharing her body, she'd wanted to share tea.</p><p>Then the motif turned gentle, melancholy. He grasped her face. The audience faded into oblivion until only the two of them remained. In the heat of the spotlight, where he belonged. He seized her supple mouth in a greedy kiss, relished the palming of his boney shoulders. And he recognized that no Gothamite, no citizen of this callous city, could ever, ever take her away from him.</p><p>He started at the tap to his knee. Sarah was on her feet, clapping and throwing him a playful glance. He scrambled up, calling out an elongated "Yeah!" as he joined her in applause. An elated laugh escaped when the conductor raised his baton again. He grabbed Sarah about the middle and sighed. "I've been thinking about this night my whole life."</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Robinson Park was oddly empty. Everyone must have been on their way to Gotham Square for the annual ball drop, as Sarah and he had done the previous year. </p><p>Arthur had reveled at being part of the crowd, spinning around, guffawing, even giving a couple of awkward fist pumps and rah-rahs. As the mirrored ball had descended the flagpole, Sarah grabbed his collar and rushed out the sweetest words he could hardly hear. "I know it's only been eleven weeks, but I want us to move in together." Shock had prevented a response. Then all at once he'd plundered her mouth, ecstatic that the future he'd envisioned for himself might be what she wanted, too. </p><p>At the moment, Arthur felt like he was living in a film. As if the two of them had been transported into the celluloid of a classic. Light flurries fell, just enough to cover the pavement as they strolled. Steam rose from ventilation grates into the frosty air, swirling patterns on a backdrop of gray buildings, barren trees, and orange streetlights. Even with the frigid temperature, he felt so light on his feet he could have jumped out of his skin.</p><p>Songs from the show bounced around in his head, a mishmash of harmonies, melodies, and romance. He studied Sarah's profile as she spoke, noticed every puff of breath that left her full lips. Snatching her hand, he stopped her in her tracks. As he guided her in a circle, he hummed lightly and shimmied his shoulders. She giggled and tried to follow his lead, took a step back when he went forward - only for her heel to slip on a patch of ice. </p><p>Quickly, he caught her under the arms. "Careful."</p><p>"Thank you." She steadied herself, pulled at the rounded collar of her full-length, wool, speckled coat. "My parents used to ask my sister and me for the best part of each year." She continued along the wide path. "What was yours?"</p><p>He took a drag from his smoke, strides slowing as he considered, not just the question but the apparent tradition. When he was little, he'd gotten an extra five cents for chocolate milk as a New Year's treat. As a teenager, he'd imagined being with his sweetheart, hand-in-hand and taking Gotham by storm. (Or at least his block in Otisburg.) Penny's increasing difficulties with staying up late had meant he'd watched Murray Franklin's specials alone, smoking the night away and picking at porridge. As the clock struck midnight, the exhilaration everyone else seemed to feel had eluded him, aided by the knowledge he'd continue to linger.</p><p>Life was so different now, finally what he deserved. Twenty years of milestones had occurred within twelve short months. He was doing okay working on his own, getting gigs here and there. He made less than at HaHa's, but he had more free time to refine his material. Open mic nights were once or twice a month. He was often able to regulate his breathing enough to contain his laughter. It was still hard for him to gauge the crowd's reactions, and he needed his notebook to remember all his jokes. But he was proud of himself and sure he did well, even when Sarah tried to give him pointers.</p><p>But the most important part of the year, the one he cherished when he rose each morning and tried to sleep each night, was what he named without hesitation. "Getting married."</p><p>"Same. Well, that and finding a new job so I can live with myself again." A bitter snicker. "Especially with whatever our new mayor gets up to."</p><p>Enough of her horsepower had been wasted on Thomas Wayne. Investigating his organization, urging whomever they ran across to vote against him, worrying life would get worse for the most vulnerable since he'd given his victory speech outside City Hall. Arthur flicked his cigarette away. "Maybe you shouldn't watch so much news."</p><p>"That could be one of my resolutions. Mute the television whenever he opens his mouth. Avoid any paper when he's on the front page." She went in front of him and took a couple backward steps. "But I love Gotham too damn much to let him run roughshod over it." She sighed wistfully. "What about you?"</p><p>He grimaced sheepishly. "I've never kept them."</p><p>"No one does. That's why I make three. One to fail, like a minute ago. One that comes easy. And one that'll require effort." She stopped to count on her fingers. "I resolve to laugh with you as much as possible. And to take more time off now that I have a reason." Her hands found their way into the pockets of his puffy, tan coat, an inquisitive expression on her pretty face.</p><p>Tilting his head back, he crossed his arms in mock skepticism. A cliché might work, a goal that was splashed across public service posters on the subway and in his old therapist's office at the Department of Health. "I'll quit smoking," he declared. She snorted and pushed down on his pockets. The pressure forced him closer. He dusted a snowflake from the icy tip of her nose. "To love you." Her gaze dropped in a manner both alluring and demure.</p><p>The third came to Arthur easily. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to speak it. Growing up, he'd heard about souls. They'd never gone to mass, but Penny had hung icons and placed prayer candles all over the apartment. The Catholic channel had been a staple in the Fleck household. Priests preached about desires and damnation, the weaknesses of humanity. It'd been heavy for a kid. </p><p>As Arthur had matured, he'd found those teachings meaningless. He hadn't wanted eternal life. The thought of existing forever, whether in heaven or hell, induced a prolonged twinge. How could damnation be worse than every day? </p><p>Then he'd met Sarah. She'd helped him want to exist. To feel her and touch her and taste her and fuck her until he lost any perception of who he was and only knew her. Her short, needy cries, which reached him more deeply than unanswered prayers and broken rosaries. Her heart that had deemed him worthwhile, the right person, despite his weirdness. Despite his flaws. Despite himself.</p><p>She was aware he'd been locked up in the hospital. She didn't know all the times he'd hurt himself without being committed. Inadvertently, he'd been smart enough to not leave scars for her to discover. She recognized he had negative thoughts but didn't know <em>how</em> negative they could get. He huffed. How could he share his resolution without dampening the lightness of their night?</p><p>The stroke of her thumb along his upper lip gave him a shot of courage. "I'm all ears."</p><p>One shoulder lifted in his usual style, his forehead furrowed. "To stay?"</p><p>Alarm registered in the widening of her eyes and rigid stance. Fear he'd scared her lanced through him, and he immediately searched for a way to apologize. But her gaze softened, the curve of her smile a tender welcome. She nodded sharply. "That's my favorite."</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>After peeling off her evening wear, Sarah got to work on Polynesian kebabs, layering canned pineapple upon marinated chicken upon red pepper. They cooked quickly, easily, and she was more than a little proud of how they turned out, slightly sweet with a hint of tang. Arthur made a soft sound of pleasant surprise and nabbed a second one before she had a chance to get a plate. She'd have to call Patricia and thank her for the recipe - and for helping her look good.</p><p>He'd mentioned a dish, one Penny had cooked when he was a child. She studied the deftness of his hands as they sliced bologna and onions, fried them with a helping of dried ramen noodles on their electric stove. Sprinkled with pepper it wasn't too bad, even if it was an example of the "poverty food" she'd read about. With the ongoing economic misery, there were ever increasing reports of how people were cutting back to scrape by. She speculated as to whether he'd grown up on government cheese and butter. How many nights his stomach had angrily grumbled. If developing the habit of ignoring hunger still contributed to the small portions he usually ate.</p><p>Two champagne coupes pushed the mental tangent aside. Though he'd argued it wasn't traditional, she'd insisted on sparkling cider. Arthur drank wine with her on occasion and sampled her cocktail whenever she ordered one. But he rarely had more than half a glass, caution she attributed to his medication. She didn't want him to worry about his next dose or how many ounces he could have, not tonight.</p><p>She knelt behind the coffee table to light a fuel cup. The fondue set had been a New Year's special, displayed on the endcap of the bread and canned goods aisles at Ed's Grocery. Burnt orange with white daisies printed in a row along its curve. Four skewers included. The price had been a steal for $12.99, but the fuel had to be bought separately for $4.99, a clear mark-up. They purchased both regardless. </p><p>He padded towards her, platter of vegetables and cubed bread in one hand, paper bag of party favors in the other. "Is it done?" he asked and sat at her side. </p><p>"Just a few more minutes." She added white wine, garlic, and paprika to the Swiss cheese already in the pot. He wrapped an arm about her, grasped the wooden spoon, and stirred the contents as they melted and melded in the cast iron. "Go easy," she instructed gently, catching his elbow. "It should be smooth."</p><p>The television played in the background, mostly so she could monitor the countdown in the upper right corner. Murray Franklin's New Year's Eve special had been out of the question. She could go without hearing that asshole's voice or seeing his stupid mug. They'd settled on live renditions of oldies and top forty hits, switching back and forth during commercial breaks. The new song from Mel Rubin and the Stiffs wasn't bad.</p><p>She dunked a piece of rye into the fondue, twirled it to achieve full coverage. The resulting ripples evoked memories of the unexpected patterns of her later life. The interplay of circumstance, choice, and that underrated concept of chance. Her throat constricted as a swell of gratitude swept through her. Gratitude at having gotten through the last decade to arrive at the present. </p><p>"I'd planned on moving a lot earlier. Ten years ago, before my parents got sick. Can you imagine running into one another back then?" She blew lightly on the bread and popped it in her mouth. "You would have met my breasts before gravity did."</p><p>A tightness crept across his visage and he chuckled. He slanted his body away from her, his feet shuffling under the coffee table. He took a turn at dipping a cherry tomato into the cheese. Then a broccoli floret. Then a bit of sourdough. "I was in the hospital then. I wouldn't have known what to do, anyways."</p><p>"You've always known with me."</p><p>"Because it's easy with you. You never treated me like a freak like everyone else."</p><p>She pursed her lips. That perception wasn't quite accurate. The short phone calls he had with Gary were pleasant. And he'd helped Arthur get started on his own by giving him referrals. When Patricia and he had met, she'd been all smiles and complimentary. Each thirty second exchange he'd had with Mabel had been polite. But Sarah understood what he was getting at. Acknowledgment and common courtesy had been rare, disdain all too common. The wounds of his experiences ran deep, resulting in a persistent need for praise and validation.</p><p>Happy to provide, she angled herself to face him. Draped her arm on the couch and traced the placket of his white shirt. "Well, I'd like to think a charming clown would have caught my eye on the way to the office." The shirt's second button popped open as she leaned closer, until she could smell the remnants of nicotine and soap on his skin. "At least long enough to see him dance and squirt me with his trick flower." She waggled her brows.</p><p>Eyes crinkled with delight, he rested his head on the sofa's seat cushion. His chest rose when her fingertips charted his prominent collarbone. "People called into Dr. Sally yesterday. To make New Year's toasts. I thought about it, but I didn't know what to say."</p><p>She stretched to retrieve the cider bottle and refilled their glasses. "Make one now."</p><p>"Okay." Arthur sat-up, crossed-legged, and brushed his loose hair out of his face. From his look of concentration, it seemed he was taking this as seriously as a speech to the United Nations. "Before you, every day was the same. I had work and my mother but... Every year was awful." He took her hand, the adoration in his eyes nearly subduing his hesitancy. "This one's been good. Having you is a big help. Next year I want to help you, too."</p><p>His speech was self-focused. Not traditionally the type of well-wishes one would receive. But she loved every syllable, how he conveyed what she meant to him in his own way. Beaming, she cupped his cheeks, followed his dimples with her thumbs. "You already do. Every second. And that was beautiful." She grabbed their coupes, handed him one while she tried to come up with something half as sentimental. "To finding each other and you being the joy in all my new years to come." A pause, then he clinked their glasses and joined her in a long sip. </p><p>Hers was nearly empty when she waved towards the TV. "It's starting."</p><p>"Here," he said, crowning her with a plastic tiara. Its cardboard, glittery wine bottle proclaiming "Cheers!" was a textbook example of kitsch. Although Arthur was a wonderful man, being sweet didn't account for taste. But the peck he bestowed on her cheek made her giggle girlishly. Persuaded her to keep it on without complaint. </p><p>The clock in the corner of the screen began its countdown, and the throng in Gotham Square chanted. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..."</p><p>In the corner of her eye, Arthur struggled to open the bag of confetti one-handed.</p><p>"Six, five, four, three..."</p><p>Sarah squished herself nearer and grabbed a paper horn.</p><p>"Two, one..."</p><p>Just as "1983" flashed in big, block letters, he clutched her jaw and turned her towards him. Claimed her mouth before tilting his head to deepen their connection, the tip of his tongue a delectable tease. Her breath halted, his fervency permeating her entire body. Slyly, she reached into his lap, grasped bits of shredded paper and colored aluminum foil.</p><p>"Happy New Year!" she cried, tossing the confetti high above their heads, laughing when it speckled his curls and eyelashes. She stuck the horn between her lips and blew.</p><p>He embraced her tightly and nuzzled the crook of her neck. "Auld Lang Syne" poured out of the speaker, the voices of their fellow Gothamites singing as one. "I didn't think I could ever be this happy," he murmured against her pulse point.</p><p>She rubbed the length of his back and laid her cheek on his temple. "I love you." Her eyes fluttered shut, her spirit invigorated by the hopeful melody and him. "I promise," she whispered. "We'll make next year the best one yet."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Out of Sight (E)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sarah has an unexpected dash of inspiration. Arthur doesn't require much convincing.</p>
<p>A/N: This fun little request comes from @sweet-nothings04. You're wonderful and I hope this meets your expectations. Thanks for the request - I can't imagine ever writing this without it! 🙈 Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for agreeing to beta!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Words didn't often fail Sarah, but the admission left her foggy, reminiscent of what she'd experienced after tipping over in a wheelbarrow race at a school fair. Her foot swung back and forth as she sat on the counter. Fiddled with the phone cord and twisted its beige, plastic curls around her fingers. Were there signs she'd missed? Was her gut right in insisting she was a terrible friend?</p>
<p>"Marriage counseling?" she repeated.</p>
<p>Arthur stopped filling his bowl with sandy, pecan cookies, alarm encroaching his features. She waved off his concern, mouthing "not us" before she spoke into the receiver. "I'm so sorry." With a grimace of understanding, he patted her knee and ducked out, sweets in hand. No doubt he'd ask her to elaborate. Not that she had anything to share. Not yet. "I had no idea you and Robert were having problems."</p>
<p>Patricia laughed lightly on the other end. "Neither of us have our bags packed." A whistle came from the background. Vague cheering. Then mild cursing about how terrible this season's Gotham Guardsmen's picks were. She sighed. "The little green monster's dropped-in since your wedding. Don't get me wrong. I couldn't be happier for you if you were my own sister."</p>
<p>Sarah wished Patricia was within arm's reach instead of all the way in Burnside.</p>
<p>"Next month we'll have been married thirty-five years," Patricia continued with a rare nostalgia. "We're a team, Robert and me. But we've both let things go, gotten old. I'd like the spark back before we lose the kindling."</p>
<p>Pursing her lips, Sarah bit back her qualms. Rebutting the steps Patricia had taken was uncalled for, and doubly so when she needed her support. Besides. Sarah understood them. She'd climbed them once, too. </p>
<p>When she'd begun to figure out the direction in which the weather vane of her life pointed, the comfort and confidence she'd shared with her ex-husband had started to wither. Transformed over the years into an awareness that her childish belief in love being enough was inaccurate. It was natural, she thought in hindsight. They'd wed at seventeen and twenty-one. But divorce had been uncommon back then, particularly in a small town in the Bible Belt. The night she'd moved in with a friend (a tactic to delay confessing defeat to her family), Jeff suggested they speak with a professional. Though her heart had known it was over, she cared for him. She couldn't deny them the chance to salvage their union, no matter how remote.</p>
<p>A solitary counselor was available, a disadvantage of rural living. The man claimed to be a pioneer in couples therapy, having begun his practice in the thirties. One forty-five-minute drive later and they'd found themselves squished into a leather loveseat in a smoky, cramped office. Diplomas and certificates covered the walls, the veracity of which she couldn't verify. Dr. Ellis's puffy pink cheeks and offer of sweet tea had been kinder than his approach.</p>
<p>Fountain pens and worksheets were provided with the mumbled instruction to answer honestly. But the questions had not fit her situation. They were for women who desired to be happy homemakers. To plan meals and do the weekly shopping. To nurse children and have dinner ready by six. Responsibilities and life stages that had given her mother purpose - a purpose that mostly eluded Sarah. Every comma and quotation mark inferred fault. And Dr. Ellis had read her responses like a disappointed teacher.</p>
<p>Somehow the filmstrips, accompanied by a crackling LP, were worse. Mr. Provider and Mrs. Housewife were featured. He consistently came home on time. She always wore an apron. The narrator's spiritless voice contrasted with the cheery soundtrack while matching Sarah's mood. A lively ping! cued them to advance to the next still, a duty switched between her and Jeff to practice teamwork. At least the sidelong looks they shared could still connect them.</p>
<p>The slides, the homework, the speeches. They all pointed to one problem: her. Her parents were a model couple. Didn't she know encouraging her husband in his livelihood was her job? That his main obligation was to invite her to share his success? She had to mend her ways. Make herself more attractive. Be grateful he displayed his affection by returning to her after a long day at the office; he could just as easily hang out at The Rusty Boot. </p>
<p>Not a little indignant, she'd stared at Jeff's profile. Downcast eyes betrayed his regret and assured she'd maintain composure, for his sake if nothing else. She fixed her focus on Dr. Ellis and gave the situation a good, long think. Jeff had never questioned her ambitions. Who the hell was this jackass to judge? </p>
<p>She'd covered Jeff's hand, rubbed his knuckle with her thumb. "You're the expert here, doctor. But isn't it possible neither party is at fault?"</p>
<p>"Mrs. Thompson, I've heard that misconception from many of my clients. It's never led anywhere positive. Now-"</p>
<p>"But what if they're both good people?" she interrupted, hanging onto diplomacy by a thread. Her resolve stayed, even as her volume lowered at the prospect of wounding the man she'd loved as a girl. "Good people who've grown apart?"</p>
<p>Dr. Ellis took what she'd learned was his usual position on the corner of his cherry desk. "You're mistaking natural sex differences for incompatibility. Not every husband allows his wife to work outside the home." His paternal smile hadn't diminished the sting of his words. "If you want your marriage to thrive, I'd advise a little more maturity. And I think I have just the book to help you."</p>
<p>Twenty tons of silence festered on the ride home, louder than the pulse beating her eardrum. Distress distracted her from noticing the run in her stockings. And it was drizzling. She cracked the passenger window of the Lincoln Continental, anyway. Closed her eyes at the bite of raw air against her overheated face.</p>
<p>"Look, I don't agree with what that guy says," Jeff started. He pulled at the gearshift and flicked the turn-signal. "Not when it comes to you."</p>
<p>As the car came to a stop, she swiped at her eyes. "I'm not going again." The press of a napkin to her palm prompted a mix of appreciation and annoyance. For his courtesy and that he'd detected her tears. "Do you even like being married to me?"</p>
<p>"Sarah-"</p>
<p>"Please." She flinched at his attempt to embrace her. "Don't spare my feelings." </p>
<p>Headlights from a passing car flashed in the cabin, revealing his stretched lips. He raked back his thinning hair. The quiet shake of his head when he moved to gaze at her was a relief. "I miss the girl I fell in love with."</p>
<p>She offered a slight shrug and pulled the corners of the tissue. "I don't like it, either."</p>
<p>His rapid blink softened her posture, along with the recognition that the dream they'd had was also out of reach for him. "I'm proud of the woman you've become," he said. "Even if she's not what I need."</p>
<p>"I don't want to be a lawyer's wife." A quiet laugh bubbled up. "The oral arguments are terrible."</p>
<p>He checked his blind spot and put the sedan back into drive. "I'll file the papers tomorrow. We can tell your parents and sister together. If you'd like." After some seconds, she'd slid across the bench seat and put her head on his shoulder, heartened by an affinity she'd nearly forgotten.</p>
<p>Counseling techniques must have evolved, Sarah considered. Perhaps Patricia would find help instead of blame. If not, tips in women's magazines were a tacky if economical alternative. She'd have to check the breakroom at work for forgotten issues. </p>
<p>She hopped off the counter and poured herself another cup of decaf. "Let me know if we can do anything. And how it goes."</p>
<p>"The first few sessions were great. I picked up a few booklets. 'Modern Marriage,' 'The Complete Woman...' Oh!" Paper shuffled as Sarah put back the milk. "'Enrichment &amp; Exploration: Tips for Bedroom Fun.' I tried reading it with Robert the other night, but he left when I mentioned massagers and blindfolds."</p>
<p>"He's sixty," Sarah snorted. "Give him time."</p>
<p>Peeking around the corner, she spotted Arthur in his writing nook. He stood to stretch, then grab his lighter and pack of Stuttons. The low sit of his pajama bottoms was enough of a temptation for her to tuck her lip. An unexpected spasm tickled her abdomen. "Brief me on the blindfold chapter."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Nervous anticipation had kept her feverish for hours, ever since she'd bid farewell to Arthur with a "Save a smile for me" on her way out the door. His clumsy smooch lingered as she changed the date on her rubber stamp. While she cleaned the office refrigerator, she spent a good sixty seconds pressing a cup of expired yogurt to her flush cheeks. When the shoulder strap of her canvas bag gave out, she shrugged rather than cursed and settled the tote in her lap. With her plan in mind, the corners of her lips refused to relax .</p>
<p>After working the grand opening of the Gotham Mall, Arthur had the workshop she'd registered him for, a beginners' seminar for stand-ups. He'd be home right around six. That would give her thirty minutes to change into her mini nightdress with the ruffled hemline, dab musk oil behind her earlobes, and put on an LP. Dinner would be delayed - neither of them would be in the mood if they were too full. If she remembered correctly, they had a pizza in the freezer, the good kind with the real pepperoni and rising crust. She just had to figure out if she should wait in the bedroom or lounge on the sofa like a poor-man's Lauren Bacall.</p>
<p>As she unlocked the apartment, however, there came a muffled <em>phomp-phomp-phomp</em>. The unmistakable sound of a sink plunger. <em>Fuck</em>. This was the third time this month. Pushing through the door, she hoped the super had called a different plumber. It had taken ages to clean up the stray sediment left behind by the last one. Upon entering, Arthur's plaid bag came into view, next to his keys on the counter. A glance into the kitchen confirmed he was trying his hand at the repair. </p>
<p>"Hey." Sarah hung her coat, glad her consternation was hidden by the wall. "What happened to your class?" she asked with deliberate playfulness. "Did they decide you were too advanced?" She crossed her arms and moved to the doorway. Tried to hold onto the tendrils of fading arousal by taking him in.</p>
<p>A pleased chuckle. "The instructor left a message." <em>Phomp-phomp-phomp</em>."It'll be rescheduled."</p>
<p>"I know you were looking forward to it." The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt and flexing biceps were having the right effect. She ambled towards him. "Let me help." </p>
<p>"It's fine. I had to do this a lot at my old place." The set of his jaw tightened as it gave it another go. </p>
<p>They went through the litany of usual questions. Arthur contently reported the mall had gone well, except for a couple of teenagers who'd given him grief at the start. ("Nothing serious. They were just kids.") Her nine-to-five had been quite low-key, she explained, and had allowed her to catch-up on a backlog of paperwork. ("With the new judge, we keep having to file motions for correction.") But when he asked about this evening, she mused and tapped her fingertips on the counter. Horny, annoyed at her thwarted plan, yet nevertheless itching to seduce him </p>
<p>Water streamed as he turned the faucet's handle, followed by his satisfied hum. He tidied up, then washed to his elbows. Grabbed the nearby dish towel and pivoted on his heel to face her. "What is it?" he asked at her lack of response. He wiped his hands a little harder. "I thought you'd be glad I'm already here."</p>
<p>Seeking to allay his concern, she scooted next to him with a gentle nudge. "You know I am. You've been running through my head all day." She scrunched her nose. "I just had this idea for a romantic evening and wanted to surprise you."</p>
<p>"Oh." Pink colored his chiseled cheekbones and his eyes softened. "You still could. I'd like that." Ardor sparked anew in her belly. Unfurled as he leaned into her, grin cutting across his mouth and straight into her heart. "Would ten minutes be enough?"</p>
<p>Her toes curled. His enthusiasm for her, <em>for them,</em> had a habit of sending electricity up her spine. "Better make it eight," she pronounced.</p>
<p>A sharp nod and a pat to her bottom later, he dashed off. Once the bathroom door shut, Sarah rushed to rummage in his workbag, delighted when she found her prize. She scurried to the stereo and put on one of her soul records. Adjusted the volume to a suggestion instead of distraction. Though the genre wasn't his favorite, it never failed to induce the swivel of his hips. Unbuttoning, unzipping, she made her way to the bedroom. Yanked off her tan skirt and jacquard sweater before carelessly tossing them in the nearby chair.</p>
<p>She'd just gotten settled on the foot of the bed when Arthur sauntered in. Clad in his white briefs and wrinkled socks. "That was five," she said and wadded her pantyhose to hurl at him.</p>
<p>He dodged it easily, stepping forward to gaze at her with hooded eyes, their clear green darkened with need. He licked his lips. "I think it was four." Without further preamble, he knelt between her legs. Scrambling up the bed, she kicked subtly against his hold on her calves. Bit her lip on a giggle as he crawled over her lap to smother her with kisses. She rested on the headboard and nabbed his red and gold Carnival tie from under her pillow. </p>
<p>He quirked a dark brow. "What, you want me to wear it?"</p>
<p>Before any reservation could resurface, she smoothed the broad neck of the tie over her eyes and secured it loosely at her temple. Hesitation floated through the air. Threatened to pierce the veil of desire that enveloped her. She wondered what he was waiting for. If he was wearing that wolfish grin he saved for the bedroom. Or if a modicum of anxiety had spawned. She had sprung this on him without prior discussion. The muffled music from the living room switched to the next song. She attempted to peek under the bottom of the makeshift blindfold, tried to make out more than a vague shadow in the muted light.</p>
<p>But then he sunk into her. Wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed her into the mattress. "If you're uncomfortable, tell me," he murmured into her mouth. "Please."</p>
<p>The implication of his request, albeit more loving than licentious, wracked her with want. She couldn't halt her shudder. Blindly, she reached to cup his face. "I trust you," she promised. To both him and herself.</p>
<p>His round nose dragged down the underside of her jaw. "Where'd you get this idea?"</p>
<p>The caress of his smile on the crook of her neck caused a delicious heaviness to settle in her center. "A pamphlet."</p>
<p>"On what?" He tugged at the knot between her ample breasts. Fondled her through the thin satin. "How to make your husband high-strung?"<br/> <br/>She carefully skimmed the rigid bulge in his briefs with her knee. "It was actually on how to loosen him up," she retorted. He always loved it when she paraphrased one of his jokes. </p>
<p>Every hushed kiss, every whisper of him against her flesh was magnified. Forced her to concentrate solely on him, to pay attention to each move he made. His humid, hot breath teased her nipple, prompted it to pebble with a twinge. When she released an embarrassingly desperate whimper, he snorted lightly and slipped his palm to the middle of her back. Following his lead, she arched into him. His soft curls brushed her as he laved her areola, swirled his tongue around it, her skin coming alive at the contact. Weathered hands that had so eagerly learned how to touch her groped her neglected breast, rolled its peak between slender, nimble fingers. She fisted the pillow, tipped her head, and grasped his shoulder with a cry. "Arthur..."</p>
<p>Getting her going usually wasn't difficult. Especially when she'd been thinking about making love for an inappropriate number of office hours. But the suspense of not seeing where he'd next pet her, of every caress being a discovery, had her core already pulsing for him. The intrigue was a treat. The best case she'd ever worked on. His strokes walked a path to every clue. </p>
<p>His fingertips skimmed her inner thighs. Groaning, he hooked them under the waistband of her bikini, tugged until she lifted her rear. He pulled them off hastily. With a gentle pressure, he encouraged her to open herself to him. She did so gladly, splaying her legs without a hint of self-consciousness. The relatively cool temperature of the room hit her hot, swollen folds and she quivered.</p>
<p>Then there was an odd sensation at her clit. Scratchy. Rough like a canvas. And was that a corner? After a few seconds it was clear it wasn't doing it for her. And she didn't think Arthur was trying to wipe away her slick. Reaching down, she found a twisted bedsheet in his fist. She was relieved he hadn't run to the kitchen for ice.</p>
<p>"Not good?" he asked.</p>
<p>She softened the blow. "You feel better."</p>
<p>The pad of his thumb trailed over her patch of springy hair, a faint tease that sent a dizzying current racing through her limbs. She strove towards him but he didn't oblige. Rather, he took her hand and placed it on her labia. Guided her to dip within her inner lips. A short moan left her, at the sensation and the sound of his increasingly labored breathing, tinged by his deep voice. "You look like sex," he blurted.</p>
<p>Laughing, she halted. Whenever something brazen spilled from his mouth, however left-footed, she adored it. She clasped his sides. "What does that mean?"</p>
<p>"If I'd seen you in a magazine," he started, moving to settle over and straddle her. His hard-on grazed her abdomen, leaving a damp trail of his arousal in its wake. Even as she wondered when he'd taken off his underwear, her muscles tensed and she gasped. Playful pecks met her cleavage. "You'd be pasted on every page of my journal." </p>
<p>Her reply slipped out before discretion could take hold. "We better buy a Polaroid." A stitch of reluctance before she added, "Just keep them in your desk."</p>
<p>He uncurled her fingers and pressed her palm to his chest. "Touch me," he whispered, pleaded. Her pulse quickened. With an unhurried deliberation, he guided her over the peaks and valleys of his body. The lean pectorals she loved to nuzzle after a weary day. The freckled indent of his sternum. Downward, to the slightly loose skin around his navel, then the soft, toned curve of his abdomen.</p>
<p>Unable to resist, she stretched to chart the ridge of muscle leading to his groin. "You make me so wet."</p>
<p>He let out a bashful giggle, edged with excitement. The instant he rasped his next words against her forehead, she knew he was doing his damnedest to rival her. He pushed her hand to his erection. "You make me so hard."</p>
<p>She followed the bulging vein from base to tip, encircled him with a firm grip. The vibration of his harsh grunt rumbled through her and he jerked forward. Released her wrist to stroke her vulva and flick back and forth along her aching nub. Focusing on the satiny feel of his flesh, the heaviness of his length, she felt petite. Feminine. Powerful. Her hand glided between his legs, cupped the sensitive skin with care. His practiced rhythm faltered. The elbow beside her ear trembled.</p>
<p>While he was a captivating visual, one she missed, her imagination was determined to compensate for her lack of sight. Breathless moans spun her fantasies. Perspiration tickled her nose, woodsy and sweet, conjuring memories of his taste in her mouth. Then all at once he was inside her, going down on her, sucking at her while fucking into her. Impossible feats that nevertheless caused a fever in her brain. "Oh, god," she mewled. Her wanton writhing hastened. She ground against his thigh. "I want your cock in me."</p>
<p>He took hold of himself as she held herself open. The blunt tip of him slid just inside her entrance, a drop when she needed an ocean. She grabbed his hips and thrust upward, hissing as he stretched her completely. "You're fucking tight," he uttered through clenched teeth.</p>
<p>She smoothed her palms over his back, memorized each notch of his ribs. The odd angle of his distended shoulder. The strong tendons at the nape of his neck. He crushed her closer, until her mouth bumped his clavicle. She nibbled lightly, licked the salty sheen of sweat from its hollow, drawing her name from his lips and rapid bucks of his pelvis. "Fuck me," she said, a command and an appeal.</p>
<p>A creak came from above. She followed his taut arm to find he'd clutched the headboard. It occurred to her, then, that her inability to see had been liberating for him. Enough to let go of his inhibitions, to give voice to the bawdy, wonderful things he'd said, to not worry about his appearance.</p>
<p>She reached to swipe her clit steadily, relentlessly. Tears pricked her eyes as she became weightless. Her frame seized, and she came with a choked cry. She sniffled and laughed into his neck, overwhelmed by him. The way he made love to her as if he sought to erase her earlier trials and replace them with the present.</p>
<p>His throaty, punctuated groans, his fingernails digging into her ass divulged his approaching release. She ran her foot along his calf, relished in his body as its angles pressed into her. He balanced himself on his knees, snapping into her at an erratic pace. Then all at once he moaned sharply and went rigid, cock twitching. She cradled the back of his head while his essence marked her walls, closed her eyes when he sprawled on top of her.</p>
<p>Raking her hands through his loose waves, she swallowed thickly. Although she'd always enjoyed sex, exploring this way hadn't been conceivable with anyone else. Allowing that match to light, allowing herself to fan that flame had been unthinkable. She'd felt inadequate. Unable to live up to others' demands, especially her own. There'd been too many boxes to check. Revealing herself in that way would have been a demonstration of trust she wasn't quite ready for.</p>
<p>Being an established woman on equal footing with her partner wasn't something she'd believed possible. She'd been content to go without and find meaning through her work. Arthur had helped her augment that. She could be tough as old leather or delicate as gossamer without concern he'd see her differently. If expectations were left unmet, their easy discussions and compromises promised they'd never become resentments. They supported each other - authentically and as themselves. </p>
<p>For the first time, she knew she was loved for who she truly was. And she wouldn't have to change to keep it.</p>
<p>Choppy panting gradually ceased, replaced by leisurely, happy sighs. He skimmed her flank, then the curve of her hip. She tickled his midriff gently, only stopping when he reclaimed her lips and slid his tongue against hers. Tenderly, he loosened the knot at her temple. She blinked at the orange, evening light invading her eyes. When his came into focus, they were still dilated, a tad sleepy. And so full of affection her breath caught. </p>
<p>Cheek propped on the heel of his hand, he raised his eyebrows. "How was it?"</p>
<p>"You have to ask?" she chuckled, swatting his backside. </p>
<p>A stray lock tumbled towards her as he bent closer. "I wanna hear it."</p>
<p>"Wonderful." Her thighs tightened, keeping him within her. "What I've been craving all day." </p>
<p>His smile was a slow build, equal parts shy and deservedly smug. Then he stared at his tie. "I- I don't know if I'll ever be able to wear that again."</p>
<p>She snorted and looped it around his neck, secured it with a half-Windsor knot. "You're a professional, Mr. Fleck. You'll manage."</p>
<p>He rolled to her left and yanked open the nightstand drawer to riffle through its contents. "What else is in the pamphlet?"</p>
<p>"Hey!" She batted him half-heartedly, boosted herself on her elbow, and spooned him. "What if I had a surprise hidden in there?"</p>
<p>Undeterred, he huffed. "It wouldn't beat this."</p>
<p>"Patricia told me about it." He stilled and slanted his gaze her way. "I can get a copy." </p>
<p>At first, Sarah assumed he'd contradict her. That he wanted to keep their escapades private. But once a few seconds had passed, Arthur acquiesced with a smirk and snatched a nearby tissue. Wiped himself off and tossed it in the woven wastebasket. He reclined beside her, hands folded behind his head. "Okay. Just don't give away my whole act."</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Photoplay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With Sarah's encouragement, Arthur learns to enjoy a different kind of attention.</p>
<p>A/N: @jokerownsmysoul requested the story behind the photo Arthur and Sarah have on their desks! The picture is described in Ch. 25 of Watch What Happens and was <a href="https://fleckcmscott.tumblr.com/post/641690669077970944/arthur-and-sarah-for-my-lovely-and-talented">illustrated beautifully</a> by @iartsometimes. Thank you for your patience! I hope you like it! Special thanks to @thegirlwho for beta-ing!</p>
<p>It's been a while since I've published anything but I'm still here! Thanks for your continued support and understanding. Most of the last few weeks have been focused on the multi-chapter, which I'm not ready to start posting, mostly because I'm still ironing out the plot. If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment or feel free to message me.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Your timing was perfect tonight," Sarah enthused, nestling deeper into Arthur's arms. "Anyone could tell how much you'd rehearsed. Especially that bit about lines. Even the waitress stopped to listen."</p>
<p>Hazy and relaxed, he let his head fall against the blue tiled wall and sighed his contentment. "It Had to be You" drifted from his transistor radio, a beacon in the lingering steam. Their bathwater had gone tepid, but he didn't care. Success and Sarah's bare skin kept him warm.</p>
<p>Five months after his appearance on Murray, since he'd gone on television as himself, stand-up comedy remained a pursuit. A dream he was finally getting the hang of. This evening had marked his fourth open-mic night at Pogo's: three minutes of material for a five-minute slot.</p>
<p>Agitation had pricked his follicles as he'd stepped onstage, journal folded in a bruising grip. His tremble stilled only after he'd flexed his fingers and shaken the MC's hand. Upon seeing Sarah in her usual spot - the table opposite the spotlight, the same one he'd first reserved for her - he'd channeled his anxiety into breathing. A mix of old quips and new, he'd gotten through his set without more than a cautious stammer and inopportune hiccup. He was sure he'd really worked the crowd. Smatterings of applause confirmed it.</p>
<p>As did Sarah's adulation.</p>
<p>Fingertips dragged up her damp back, tucked her wet locks behind the shell of her ear. "I saved a joke for you," he rasped. "Knock knock."</p>
<p>"Who's there?"</p>
<p>"Olive."</p>
<p>She played with his sparse chest hair, a gentle scratching through uneven patches. "Olive who?"</p>
<p>Smile pressed to her forehead, he murmured, "Olive you and I want <em>everyone</em> to know it."</p>
<p>She twisted to seal their mouths on a pleasured hum. The coquettish sweep of her tongue, echoing his adoration, almost allowed him to ignore the digging of her elbow into his abdomen. "I know how we can make that happen," she said. "If you perused our apartment, what would you say is missing?"</p>
<p>He cupped her sides to guide her off him, adjusted his legs in an effort to make space in the narrow bath. His thumb ran along his lower lip. More boxes, cans, and spices than he'd ever owned resided in the kitchen cabinets. While they could use a chair in the living room, he preferred the sofa being the sole option - it dependably led to cuddling. His writing nook was precious, his first truly personal space. "Um, I think we're out of lightbulbs? I forgot to add them to the list."</p>
<p>She retrieved the glass of red wine from the corner of the tub. "A few of my colleagues have asked if I'm married or have a boyfriend. It's one of the first questions women get when they start a new job." She gave a small shrug. "We should take some photos of us together. They don't have to be fancy. Just you and me."</p>
<p>Studying the swirls of soap on the water's surface, he hugged his thighs. Set his jaw against the unwelcome knot in his stomach. Outside of medical records, the one time someone had cared enough to put him on film, his humiliation had been aired from coast to coast. And while he trusted Sarah, believed she'd never do anything to embarrass or insult him, the idea of having his visage around the house struck him as odd. Paintings and postcards had adorned the walls on Anderson Avenue. Not memories.</p>
<p>He frowned and wiggled his toes. "I know what I look like."</p>
<p>"Yes, but if you keep performing, you're going to have to get used to it. A couple of sample shots of Carnival might be good, too, in case anyone's curious prior to booking you." Another minute of quiet and she bent forward, her breasts a soft pressure on his calf. "Arthur, it's another step to take together. I'd put the frame right next to my typewriter. Then you could charm me if I ruined a motion or had a bad call with a clerk." She kissed his knee. "And I need to show you off."</p>
<p>Heat enveloped his face, his chuckle muffled by his bashful grimace. She was right, of course. Portraits of couples stared at him from studio display windows on his way to gigs and appointments. Donahue's and L. Ballinger's department stores often advertised engagement packages. Granted, he and Sarah weren't there yet, despite the ring he'd put on layaway. But her explanation and kind words lessened some of his reticence.</p>
<p>Her expectant gaze stole away the rest. Reaching for his fluffy blue towel, he nodded to himself and stood. Patted droplets from his chest, his legs, his feet. With the terrycloth cinched at his narrow hips, he took the glass from her outstretched hand and lifted it for a sip. "Maybe my desk should have one, too."</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>Pictures of them as a couple - as Sarah had claimed - would've pleased Arthur. Having a spare image or two of her to paste in his journal would have been lovely. In his eagerness, he'd already designated spots for them. A rectangle of space beside an uneven paragraph, his reaction to her hint she wanted to marry. ("Wow! I think it's pretty clear she's crazy! Or she just enjoys how I make her coffee.") A caption on a blank page opposite a scribbled-out figure. ("The best person in the city loves me," followed by a smiley face. "I like it.")</p>
<p>Yet, all she seemed to use her newly purchased 110 camera for - the model with an electric flash instead of cubes - was to take snapshots of him.</p>
<p>A quiet giggle, followed by fabric softener florals revealed her tiptoeing while he worked on his material, dark brows furrowed in annoyance because punchlines refused to form. Sinews tensed, he quickly scanned what he'd noted, verified nothing appalling resided on the pages. Then he dropped the pen and shifted his suddenly restless legs. "They're not ready yet."</p>
<p>She must have sensed his disquiet because she massaged his shoulder. "I'd like a close-up of you, if that's all right." Looping her arm about his neck, she perched on his lap. "You should have a headshot. I won't even charge a licensing fee."</p>
<p>His throat clenched at the tenderness buried beneath her banter, at how easily she inspired his confidence, bolstered his determination. He pushed his mouth to hers, a caress rather than a kiss. With a subtle angling of his knees, he eased her off him and directed her to stand a couple feet away. Smoothed the wrinkles from the oversized sweatshirt he'd borrowed from her and raked his hair back. Considered what it would take to pass for the normal but talented man he longed to be.</p>
<p>Posture rigid, splayed hand on the right side of his journal, ballpoint in his left, he waited. And waited. And waited a little more. The delay was beginning to remind him of the DMV. He quirked a brow in inquiry, only to have her point and click immediately.</p>
<p>Once he recognized he'd been doing a version of it all his life, whenever he'd tried to fit in, posing steadily became easier. If she noticed his purposeful stances, she didn't remark on them. There were the prolonged breaths of smoke as he lounged on the metal railing of their fire escape. Mug in his grasp and gaze pointed towards the sunset, the way he'd seen on a billboard ad for cigarettes pricier than his.</p>
<p>The afternoon she watched him prepare for a kid's party, her regard full of enthusiasm, his brush halted. Bristles pulled at his bottom lip, fanned out over his jutted chin to get the red greasepaint right. Though he stared straight into the bathroom mirror, only routine kept the pigment within the lines. For his concentration was fully on her. When she pressed up against his side, bounced to her toes to hold a kiss to his cheekbone and stick the lens in front of their faces, he smiled her favorite kind of smile: dimples prominent and bright enough to light a concert hall.</p>
<p>And then there was the sudden flash as they rode the subway, huddled by a stanchion in the crowded car. Fellow passengers groaned, and a nearby woman grouched at Sarah for waking her son. Arthur was about to tell the woman her barking was likelier to bother the kid, to protect Sarah from the harshness she refused to believe Gotham was built on. But her calm demeanor and short but sincere apology stopped him. Being a better version of himself was simpler with her.</p>
<p>Before they'd parted ways, court for her and therapy for him, she explained her reaction. Considering the bags under the mother's eyes and her lips, cracked from chewing, she'd probably had a rough morning. Or, perhaps, a rough month. "I'm about to deal with a hell of a lot worse," Sarah said with a dismissive wave.</p>
<p>Leaning on the concrete pillar of a nearby doorway, he puffed at his cigarette. "Okay," he offered, partially convinced. (It really shouldn't be hard to be nice.) "But why did you take a picture, anyway? I ride the train every day."</p>
<p>"It's one of your routines. And you're so damn handsome." She took an intent step towards him and fingered the collar of his button-up. "Hold still." Already rummaging in her canvas bag, she retreated to the opposite side of the sidewalk.</p>
<p>An exasperated huff escaped him, but he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up. After flicking his smoke towards the curb, he crossed his arms over his chest. Tried not to roll his eyes at her instruction not to blink. If he'd known she'd insist on sticking her camera in her purse whenever they went out, he might have suggested a studio appointment instead.</p>
<p>As much as he enjoyed her fussing, it had a tendency to make him self-conscious. He wasn't worth it. Yet, her affectionate intentions plucked the sentiments of his heartstrings, tuned them to a mesmerizing melody. And he found himself wishing her attentions would never cease.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The tagline on the movie poster was a sensation in bright yellow: "From the moment he touched her...he knew he could never let her go!" Could the unapologetic schmaltz have been more fitting? Giggling, Arthur shoved his fists into the worn pockets of his well-loved tan jacket. Channeled his impatient excitement by fiddling with a loose thread. If only Sarah would hurry up and get here. The film was set to start at 6:15.</p>
<p>As the box office returned $4.00 change and two tickets, the rushed clatter of kitten heels on pavement announced her appearance. He turned to see her dodge a stray garbage bag while she sprinted up the sidewalk. Pale blue light emanated from shop windows, reflecting off the lilac satin of her scarf, a contrast to her silvery blouse. She applied another coat of burgundy lipstick, ignored a hawker of unlabeled cassettes when he offered his wares. Arthur smiled, grateful he wore cologne.</p>
<p>"Sorry I'm late." She tugged down the bottom of her navy-blue blazer. "I was stuck in a meeting." She entwined their fingers, led them to the snack counter, and summarized the day's exploits. There'd been paperwork to run to a process server, clients to console, shorthand to jot. On top of that, the green line had lost power. "Super rats chewed through the wiring or something."</p>
<p>The candy display's cloudy glass gave him pause. As did the partially congealed gummy bears, sour jaw breakers, and bubble gum drops. With a gentle nudge and cock of his head, he asked her to pick. She requested a box of chocolate covered mints. Though the popcorn machine's hinges were duct taped, its plastic spattered with a build-up of oil dating back to the seventies, he ordered a bucket with extra butter and a fistful of napkins.</p>
<p>Straightening the purse strap on her shoulder, she glanced at him with a curious look. "I haven't seen this before. What year did you say it came out? Fifty-seven?"</p>
<p>A swift nod. The story of two lonely souls - a playboy and a nightclub singer - running into each other on a ship had been his first VHS tape, one he'd fished out of the used bin at the local rental shop. That the playboy later accepted the singer's wheelchair, that her disability hadn't hindered their courtship, had been a bonus. He opened the theater door for her. "It's one my favorites. The theme song's nice, too."</p>
<p>The musty auditorium was more oversized living room than cinemas, its screen about twenty feet across. Tan frames hung on burnt orange walls, empty save for the initials and expletives carved into them. Situated on either side of the green carpeted aisle were narrow rows of four and six chairs. He chose one in the middle, side-stepping to a makeshift couple seat, the result of a missing armrest. That the fabric was frayed and foam stuck out at the corners didn't matter, so long as he could sit with her. He wiped crumbs from the cushions just as the cracked wall sconces dimmed and a trumpet thundered.</p>
<p>The opening credits engrossed him, pink cursive on falling snow, until he felt the flakes on his face. Central Park became Gotham Park, one of their regular walking spots. Rather than a penthouse in the Upper East Side, the camera panned to their apartment in Burnley, a shot beholding the entirety of changes since last October. As the story unfolded, as the characters feelings grew deeper, dancing and cocktails ensued. Family members approved and reporters speculated. Confessions were confided, hopes laid bare. When the would-be lovers had to part, promising to reunite in six months, Arthur was enchanted. And at the woman's absence on the day of the rendezvous, he swallowed his grief.</p>
<p>At the climax, when the leading man surprised his darling with a visit, Sarah's cheek fell to Arthur's shoulder. Soft hair brushed his jaw, the crunch of popcorn drowned out by the beating of his pulse. Every deference towards him, no matter how minor, was a stitch in the gaping wound of his life. He inclined his temple along the top of her head and whispered the dialogue he'd learned by rote. "I knew there must be something between us..." He watched her hand as it traveled up his sternum, her fingertips following the collar of his grey cardigan.</p>
<p>"The End" splashed across the screen and he guided her chin upwards, emboldened by her touch and the swell of cellos. She kissed him and peppermint opened his lips. Christ. How had he ever existed without knowing the sweetness of her mouth? Her breath hitched as he palmed her hip, ignoring the other patrons as they filed out. If it hadn't been for the usher's annoyed sweeping, he was sure they'd never have parted.</p>
<p>Afterwards, they strolled quietly in the direction of Gotham Square. A refreshing chill nipped his nose, another reminder that summer was still weeks away. Puddles adorned the ground, leftovers from an unpredicted shower. Constellations of traffic lights and streetlamps surrounded them, loaning the cityscape a brilliance the sun would later shatter. Exhaust fumes fused with the sweet muskiness of wet asphalt, both smells he'd known since he was a boy.</p>
<p>Waiting for the pedestrian signal, he peeked at her, trying to gauge what she thought of the movie. She appeared content. But the knit of her brow told him she was reflecting. "So, did you like it?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I loved you sharing it with me. I'm not quite sure about the ending, though."</p>
<p>He frowned at his brown oxfords. Clasped one wrist behind his back. He'd thought she'd have a good reaction, maybe enjoy it as much as he did. "They got together," he said. What could she possibly object to about that?</p>
<p>"And I have nothing against happily-ever-afters." Sarah stepped off the curb. "But she said, 'If you can paint, I can walk.'"</p>
<p>After a beat, he followed. "Yes?"</p>
<p>She reached the other corner, then spun in his direction, continuing only when he stood before her. "I'd like to think they'd <em>stay</em> together. Even if she couldn't." She locked her arms about his waist. "The way we will."</p>
<p>Voice stuck in his throat, he took in her words, his heart turning over at their significance. Her reassurances that she didn't hold his mental illnesses and condition against him were normally implied. A soothing rub to his belly after an attack. Offers to listen and acceptance if he didn't want to speak. Or simply asking what he needed. And always, <em>always</em> flirtatious kidding. Bliss shot through his limbs at her explicit embrace. He cupped her jaw and blinked down at her. Traced the faint wrinkle at the corner of her mouth.</p>
<p>The moment was flawless, everything he'd fantasized about since his early twenties. He wanted to extend it into the next hour, the next week, the next year. But the bleat of a car horn punctured the idyllic aura. As did the growling of her stomach. "How are you still hungry?" he teased.</p>
<p>She gave a shrug and made a beeline for a nearby soft pretzel stand. "Baked tidbits and endearing Gothamites are two items I can't resist." She handed a couple of bills to the vendor and bent forward conspiratorially to speak in hushed tones. After a few seconds of negotiation, she dug around in her purse and surrendered her camera and another dollar.</p>
<p>The vendor stepped in front of his cart and shoved the pretzel in Arthur's direction. Face lit up with gladness in the incandescent yellow of the cart's lights, she beamed up at him and tugged at his sleeve. She reached for the hot treat. But with a gentle tut he yanked it away. Disbelief furrowed her forehead, which quickly transformed into laughter. Grinning, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The click of a shutter sounded. And he found himself blinded - by happiness and her.</p>
<p>~~~~~</p>
<p>The hour it took to develop the film felt like a day. Arthur distracted himself from the wait with some light shopping. A box of band-aids, a jar of the moisturizer Sarah used at night, make-up sponges. The lightbulbs he'd previously forgotten and a pack of buy-two, get-two-free red tapered candles. The pocket envelope of prints tempted him as soon as the clerk handed it over. But Arthur managed to restrain himself. Sarah and he would go through them at home, as they'd planned.</p>
<p>Fortunately, she got back from the office right on time. Quick work was made of the sloppy joes (with extra Worchester sauce) and canned corn he'd prepared. Dishes were left to fend for themselves in the sink. Hurriedly, he brought her to the living room, where they cozied up in front of their walnut stereo console.</p>
<p>"When did you take this?" Sarah snatched the glossy image from the pile on the carpet.</p>
<p>Arthur rolled on his side, propped himself on his forearm to glance at it. "Oh." With the comforter halfway down her breasts (which he'd ensured her sleepwear covered) and her lips agape, she really did look funny. "Last week. When you went to bed early."</p>
<p>"I had no idea you could be so slinky. I'll have to return the favor."</p>
<p>"You already did," he said, indicating the secret snapshots she'd captured. Of him at a distance, checking the dates on loaves of bread at the grocer. His silhouette outlined by the light of the corridor as he waited for the elevator to arrive.</p>
<p>Then they came across the picture from their date, the one with the pretzel and the blurred intersection behind them. Careful not to smudge it with his fingerprints, he studied it. The love in their shared look, the fun they'd had together prompted a deep exhale. "Perfect."</p>
<p>"I want that one, too," she giggled lightly. She scooted closer to his desk and knelt long enough to retrieve a ballpoint. "I'll get another copy Monday." She marked the associated negative number on the print sheet. "Would a gold frame would work? It'd match your jacket."</p>
<p>"Maybe brown?"</p>
<p>Once finished, she stretched to grab his journal and set it on her lap. He froze momentarily and was about to say, "That's private." But she calmed him by leaving it shut and positioning it as a writing surface. She flipped the photo over and put ink to it. Arthur craned his neck in an attempt to read her cursive. His ribs tightened along with his cheeks. "We're 'the most perfect couple on earth?'"</p>
<p>She nodded sharply. "I'd testify to that under penalty of perjury."</p>
<p>"Hm." Before hesitation could cloud his thinking, before an ounce of timidity could prevent it, he snagged the ballpoint and composed his own small message beneath hers. Hand steady, he went slowly to ensure he spelled everything without error.</p>
<p>Sarah cleared her throat, her gulp audible. "'I hope to put a smile on you.'" A soft sound escaped her and, all at once, she straddled his outstretched legs. "You do, Mr. Fleck. Every day." Her thumbs stroked his sideburns as she laughed. "Ever since you stood in the way of that damned freezer."</p>
<p>Arthur's lashes fluttered at the memory of that evening. Though he hadn't had a camera, he'd documented it in his mind's eye. Her kindness. Her blush. His success at being a gentleman. That those simple gestures could have led to this was unfathomable. But it was wonderful to allow himself to trust that her delight in him was real.</p>
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